A Spark Of Love
by MixItUp
Summary: Drusilla never comes back to Sunnydale in 5x14 "Crush". How does that change things for Spike and Buffy?
1. Chapter 1

A Spark of Love

* * *

_Drusilla never comes back to Sunnydale, having been completely immolated in Los Angeles. The bogus stakeout goes a little differently, then, but the same basic events ensue. Spike tells Buffy he loves her; she seems disgusted and leaves. Spike returns to his crypt, teary-eyed; Buffy has a heart-to-heart with Joyce and Willow and eventually decides to find Spike to make sure he understands she could never love him. Without Dru's interference, though, things don't go quite the same way…_

There was nothing Spike hated more than crying. Emotions were weakness – that had been beaten into him very quickly after he'd been turned. As a human, he'd been nothing but a puddle of sentiment. Bloody pathetic, really. William Pratt had been a right fop, not like Spike at all. Spike was…hard, tough, ready for anything. He didn't like to think of himself as completely emotionless and psychotic like Angelus, but he wasn't a pushover anymore. No one's sissy boy.

He didn't feel very much like Spike right now. Standing in his cold, lonely crypt, crying his eyes out over some _bint_ (he struggled to curse her name, because even now she seemed beautiful to him) – that was William, through and through. He despised it, but the more he thought about it, about _her_, about the look on her face when he told her – tried to tell her – oh, God. _God God God God,_ and he thought it so much that he felt even more like William, earnestly praying for mercy from the Almighty.

But Spike was a demon, and he knew there was no mercy to be found for him – from God or from Buffy. Right now, he had the worst of both worlds, all the pitiful human emotion and all the hopelessness of the lost creature. He wiped at his eyes furiously, as if that would force his emotions from him.

What was he gonna do? It was far from the first time that he'd brassed the Slayer off, of course, but this time seemed different. She seemed almost afraid, wary of him like his love was some sort of dangerous contagion. _If only_, he thought wistfully. Still, he'd been mostly content with being by her side as a companion and ally. Hadn't been planning on pushing the issue not for a while yet. It hadn't been that long since Soldier Boy had skipped town, and even though Spike couldn't understand why anybody would be hung up on that bland wafer, he knew Buffy wouldn't see it that way. But she just had to accuse him, ask him questions he wasn't ready to answer.

_God_, he thought again, angrily, pushing over one of the statues that had dared to stand near him. It made a satisfying clatter, but didn't break. He sniffled again, feeling overwhelmingly pitiful. This could not possibly get any worse.

"Spikey?"

He lifted his eyes to the heavens. How wrong he'd been.

Squinting to conceal his tears, Spike turned around to face the other vampire. "Not much in the mood for company, Harm, so if you could just sod-"

"Are you crying?" she asked, interrupting him and looking very much aghast. He glared, which she must have taken as an affirmative – before he could blink an eye, she had wrapped herself around him in an unappealing way, cooing in his ear and making little sighs that he supposed she considered sexy. "Who hurt my little blondie bear's feelings, huh? Do I need to smack 'em around?"

He growled, breaking her embrace and pushing her off of him. She stumbled, not quite falling to the ground. Harmony scrambled to her feet, now a perfect picture of outrage. "You can't keep shutting me down like this, Spikey, it's not _healthy_-"

"Yeah, well, it's not gonna be too _healthy_ for you to kick around this crypt any longer, Harm. I've bollixed things up enough as it is. Your yammering's the last thing I need, probably drive me round the bloody bend." He made a dismissive hand gesture that was probably a lot less threatening than he intended.

Harmony simply looked at him blankly. Spike rolled his eyes. "I'm kickin' you out, yeah? Just sod off. Good-looking girl like you'll find a place to sleep. I'm through with this."

Her lower lip trembled. "You're just saying this because you're _damaged_, boo-boo. If you would just open up – "

"Well, I'm never gonna do that, Harm!" he said hotly, gritting his teeth. She wasn't going to give in without a fight. If Buffy was gonna treat him like the Big Bad, he might as well act like a villain.

Spike ripped the lid off the nearest coffin and lobbed it at Harmony, narrowly missing her (though even he wasn't sure if that was due to his emotional state or deliberate misaim). She stood there resolutely as he hurled curses at her, hands planted on her hips like she was his mum or whatnot. "Spikey, I know you love me –"

"No, I don't."

It was so simple he could have smacked himself. Right in bloody front of him. The only thing that would hurt Harmony was the truth.

"You're just saying that – "

"I'm in love with the Slayer."

It was all Spike could do to keep from laughing at the look on her face. Now it was his turn to endure the insults she threw at him, but he kept a straight, earnest expression until she finally huffed out, taking the broken statue with her.

"And don't think you're ever gonna see _this_ again!" she said pointedly, re-entering the crypt just enough to gesture to her backside. "You're sick, Spike!"

He chuckled to himself as her scent faded. "Bloody right, I am."

It seemed less funny now that Harm was gone, though. Spike was suddenly confronted again with the reality of Buffy's anger. It had been over an hour and she hadn't even shown up to threaten him.

He could take her being pissed off at him, could take her beating the hell out of him, even. But being bloody ignored, like he was some problem that would just go away? It boiled his blood.

What could he do? Couldn't exactly show up at her house, now could he? Didn't want to cause a scene, not with the Bit and Joyce. What if they hated him, too? It'd be more than he could bear, and he already felt like being dust would be a blessing. No, he'd have to wait for her to seek him out. Be the sane thing to do, which was what she _claimed_ she wanted in a partner. Not bloody likely, seeing her taste in men thus far, but he knew that going after Buffy when she was this level of angry was about as smart as sticking your head in the oven.

So he had a couple of options. He could lounge about his crypt, moping and getting as plastered as possible. He could hit up the demon bars, see if he could win a little money or score some information that might put him back in the Slayer's good graces. Or…he could do the graveyards and hustle up a little bit of violence.

Spike felt himself almost smile at the thought. And maybe, just maybe, he'd run into the Slayer while he was out. Wouldn't that be interesting…

* * *

Not even bothering to knock or call his name, Buffy broke down the door to Spike's crypt and let herself in. She strode confidently, like a woman on a mission. Which she was. The mission: make Spike realize you'll never love him and this is all a mistake, resume business as usual. And then, maybe go home and watch a movie. It was early yet, at least by Slayer standards.

"Spike?" she said, feeling a little more hesitant now. It was awfully quiet, but she didn't feel any vampy tingles on her neck. She'd been around Spike so much in the past few months that he barely registered on her vamp radar anymore, though, so she descended into the underground part of the crypt. So maybe she was breathing a little more quickly. It wasn't a big deal, it was just…stuff like this made her nervous. She wasn't really good with rejection. Mostly, she was the one getting rejected, at least by guys that she already, you know, loved. It was one thing to turn down some sleazy stranger, and quite another to try to convince a really weird vampire (who, she had to admit, knew her like the back of his hand) that you would never consider being in a relationship with him. She felt…a little gross.

It would have been so much easier if they could have just stuck with the whole trying-to-kill-each-other thing. These weird alliances just made everything…weird.

She kept walking, not bothering to call for him now. It was obvious that he wasn't here, but some mysterious sense of curiosity had seized her. She came in here a lot, of course, but it wasn't like she hung out with Spike for kicks. Unlike her little sister, apparently, which – ew. Still.

Buffy moved closer to an area covered by a curtain, her fingers almost tingling with a dreadful sort of anticipation. She didn't want to – but she did – but she shouldn't –

The decision was taken out of her hands. Something was going on upstairs, and it was definitely not of the good. By the time she had really registered the strangled screams and moans, she was halfway back upstairs. Her heart pounded unpleasantly.

After first ascending, she saw nothing, although her vamp senses were still blaring all the danger signals. Then –

A flash of movement. She leaped after it, tackling the whatever-it-was. It snarled loudly, and Buffy vaguely heard a few muffled yells and loud British swear words from behind her.

The demon she'd pinned was some sort of hideous, slimy dog-like creature. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth as it growled at her, struggling to get free, and that exposed a view of its mouth. She nearly gagged; it was swarming with maggots.

Buffy fumbled for a weapon, but it was kind of difficult to retrieve the stake from her back pocket without allowing the thing to get loose. She swore under her breath.

"What the bleeding hell are you doing, Slayer?" said the non-person she least wanted to hear. She froze up, and the dog-thing took its opportunity to break free of her grasp. To her surprise, it didn't attack, just ran off into the bushes. Now doubly exasperated, she turned to Spike.

"What am I doing here?" she repeated incredulously. "Excuse me, mister, but you're the one playing on my turf! I mean…figuratively speaking. You're in my space...and it's a private, uh, thing…"

It was like she had suddenly lost the ability to say anything resembling English to Spike. She was sure that he would have been making that annoying face and raising an eyebrow at her if he hadn't been so…well, angry.

"Piss off, Slayer. You don't own any of this, least of all me. 'sides, I was doing you a bleedin' favor, believe it or not. That demon that you so helpfully let get away lives up in the caves, I think. Might belong to some vamps. From what I can tell, someone has domesticated it for some reason, which doesn't exactly smell good for the human population of this godforsaken town. A lot of bloody help you've been, fighting the good fight an' getting in my way, but – "

Buffy had stopped listening. "Spike, what if it's got some connection to Glory?" she said, momentarily forgetting her anger and disgust with him. "Can you track it?"

She felt him looking at her, and she finally forced her eyes up to his. He was breathing heavily, odd for someone who didn't need oxygen in the first place, and he looked like a wreck. Part of it seemed to be from fighting – somehow, Buffy doubted that the demon dog-thing was the first baddie Spike had found that night. The other part – she avoided his eyes again, not wanting to see the expression in their depths.

She wasn't ready to see that yet.

"Yeah," he said after a minute, no longer sounding angry. "I can."

"Okay." To her own surprise, her fury had faded as well. This is what she'd wanted, after all. For things to go back to…as normal as they got, for her, which in this case was working with her ex-enemy to possibly save her sister.

They walked in an oppressive silence. Every once in a while, Spike would stop and take a good whiff of the air, then nod authoritatively and continue off, taking strides and forcing her to walk quickly to keep up.

She felt an overwhelming need to say something, so after about ten minutes she remarked, "You were right about one thing."

Spike slowed down, turning his eyes on hers. Buffy swallowed when she saw the vulnerability there. For once, his face was completely open and unguarded, his eyes clearly expressing his emotions so painfully that she almost felt them too. Curiosity, desire, hurt, and that…that she was so afraid of. She blinked rapidly.

Couldn't be. Without a soul…it couldn't be.

Softly, she said, "We do need to talk."

She expected him to reply, "Not really the best time for that, love", or perhaps to snarkily say that "Of course, now you want to talk, after I lay my bleedin' heart on the line", or maybe even just try to confess his love again. He didn't do any of that. Spike just stared at her expectantly, with those eyes.

Her body was tingling in a not entirely unpleasant way. She shivered, and drew her arms around herself even though she knew that wasn't the reason for her sudden chills. Spike seemed too close now, like he was all around her, already touching her even though they were feet apart.

"Not now," she managed finally, looking at the ground. "After. This is more important."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. There was something in his voice she couldn't quite… "It is. And we're nearly there, pet." He drew aside a branch, revealing the caves

"Great." She tried to make her tone sound all-business. "So let's go."

* * *

He couldn't suss out how the Slayer was feeling. It shouldn't have bothered him, but it did. Normally, he had some idea of what was going on in that pretty little head of hers but honestly, right now, Spike had no clue.

Didn't matter. Shouldn't matter, _couldn't_ matter, because here they were stalking through a cave, after some bloody beastie that might be trained to kill the Niblet. That was more important, he'd meant what he said. Didn't mean he wasn't still thinking about what it was that Buffy wanted to say to him exactly.

"It's close," he said in an undertone, letting his face smoothly morph until it was ready for battle. "Reckon we should split up?"

Buffy shook her head. "As I've learned from Scooby Doo, not a great strategy. Divided we fall. Just…watch my back, in case anything else shows up. Okay?"

She finally looked at him, and he was relieved to see that there was still trust in her eyes. "Don't have to ask, love. You know I'm here for you."

Spike could see her tense, but she didn't reply, just rushed forth into the battle. He tried not to grin. _Yeah, that's my girl_, he thought with satisfaction, even though he suspected it'd never be true.

Way back when, he'd thought nothing could top fighting this Slayer. She was all poetry and painful sunshine, whipping around your body like a bee around nectar and twice as ready to sting. That was before he'd fought _with_ her, at her side.

Fighting alongside Buffy was like having a whole set of extra limbs, only you never quite knew what they were gonna do. Yeah, she had a mind of her own, and she surprised him more often than not, but the innate sense of what she was never left him. She was a Slayer, probably the best one the world had ever seen, but she was also wild. Like him. More like him than anyone he'd ever known, and God, what a rush. To see that look of passion on her face, even though it was bloodlust and not, well, the other kind. Made a bloke feel good.

They danced around the ugly thing, swapping weapons and tangling its legs. Buffy pounced on it; Spike stabbed it. When it reared and scratched his face, she spared him a look (of concern, he hoped), but kept on fighting. The thing had nasty claws, for sure. He tasted the blood running down his cheek. Not poisoned. Buffy was safe – relatively, anyway. He stood and rejoined the fray.

Both of them were in pretty rough shape by the time the slimy demon died. Buffy wiped the sweat from her brow as Spike quickly inspected the cave. "I only smell vampire, lo-Slayer," he corrected quickly, not wanting to push his luck. Not now.

"Yeah, it doesn't look like this salty dog was Glory's pet, after all. Unless she was hiring vampires to take care of it." Buffy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She'd been spending too much time with the old Watcher, Spike observed. "It's too hard to understand a crazy person, you know?"

"I do," he agreed readily.

To his surprise, she nearly cracked a smile. "I, uh, didn't really think that one through, huh?"

Spike wanted to say something snarky and cutting, but he could feel his mouth spreading into a genuine smile. Buffy's expression brightened, and they were both laughing in seconds, mostly with relief from the battle.

After a minute, she looked down at herself, obviously uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "Reckon we should get you cleaned up. Can stop by the house if you'd like…or call it a night, I dunno if you – "

"No," she said, sighing. "I – we need to – but getting cleaned up sounds good."

"To Revello Drive it is then," he said stoutly, pushing off from the wall. Buffy moved reluctantly.

"Uh, how about no on that count, too? I don't want to worry Mom and Dawn. We can go back to your crypt. If, uh, that's okay."

He had never heard the Slayer so unsure of herself when talking to him – well, except in the aftermath of Red's little will-be-done spell. She was hiding something, and if he'd been less pathetic, he would have found out what it was. As it was, he just offered a "'Course, love," and they headed off, leaving the already-rotting corpse behind.

* * *

This was pretty much the worst idea she'd ever had.

Quick thinking was maybe not Buffy's strong suit, okay? She'd had to come up with some way to throw Spike off the trail of the house. It would be major ickiness if he came over just to find out that he'd been uninvited, and really, it was just a precaution, anyway. He'd been almost normal tonight, and she found that she didn't really want to exile him from her life, but she also didn't want to put her mom and sister in danger. Part of her felt that Spike would never do them harm, but another part was reminded of how he'd been when they first met and then she wasn't sure.

Anyway, she hadn't had time to think it through and realize that going back to his place to get cleaned up meant taking a shower. With Spike in the next room. And, to make matters worse, she didn't exactly have a change of clothes on her that weren't completely covered in blood and demon goo, so she was going to have to borrow a shirt from him. _The award for best planning goes to_…

She sighed and scrubbed more vigorously. At least he had rigged up a shower in here, even if the situation left a lot to be desired. The stench of rotten flesh still clung to her skin – she'd gotten the brunt of the goo spew when the slime thing had kicked the bucket. Of course. Absolutely nothing could go right tonight.

Emerging from the shower, she realized that he didn't exactly have any towels. She peeked around the corner, where the bed was, but saw only sheets and discarded clothes. Buffy tugged on her pants anyway, and slid Spike's shirt over her head. It was soft, and black (of course), and it smelled surprisingly wonderful. Once again, her heart rate was pounding, and she didn't want to consider why.

She balled up her discarded shirt and relocated to the other room. It felt too small, somehow, to hold her and Spike in it, so she looked away from him as if that would give her more air.

"I'll take that," he said, referring to the smelly blouse. He had changed, too, into a navy tee-shirt, and she almost blushed when she realized she was admiring the way it clung to his upper arms. Embarrassed, she handed him the item of clothing, which he threw into an obscure corner with his own articles.

"Uh, thanks."

_Brilliant wordsmithing_, she thought angrily. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just…be normal?

Because nothing was normal, and she had a feeling that it really wouldn't be again.

Buffy toyed with her hands. Spike was slouched into an armchair, and he gestured for her to take the other seat. She moved a little too hurriedly, and almost fell into the sofa. Righting herself, she tried to act casual.

"So, about earlier…"

He looked at her expectantly. She noticed that, despite the cool air he was obviously trying for, one of his fingers was tapping very quickly against his thigh. Buffy felt the strange need to swallow.

"Yeah?" he prodded, catching her eye. She struggled not to look away.

"I might have…overreacted. I mean, maybe I'm blowing this out of proportion, right?" Her toes had picked up the same rhythm as Spike's moving digit. "I probably wouldn't have freaked so much if Dawn hadn't…"

"Dawn?" he said, sounding surprised and impressed. "Well, well. The Niblet figured me out, did she? A regular little Harriet the Spy."

"Yeah, well…I didn't want to believe her."

She wasn't looking at him, but she could almost feel his disappointment. "That so?"

"Yeah," she said, suddenly full of righteous fury. Buffy sat up a little straighter. "It is so. I mean, how would you feel? Say you're the Slayer, right? Just doing your duties, trying not to get your sister killed by a crazed hellgod, when all of a sudden this vampire – who tried to kill you like, two months ago – decides to up and declare his love for you? Oh, and let's not forget to mention that the last time you got involved with a vampire it nearly ended the world. So how would you feel, Spike? Hmm?"

His blue eyes were completely taken aback, but he leaned toward her as he began to speak. "Well, I 'magine I'd be pretty shaken up a bit, like you were. Completely reasonable under the circumstances, I see that now. But…I'd get away from the situation, think about it a little bit, and realize that not all vampires are the bloody same, yeah? Sometimes people just need a second chance."

"You're not a people."

"What does that mean? I've got a heart – may not be beating, but it's there and it's sure as hell capable of breaking…and of loving. Your soldier boy was human, and we both know he had his flaws. Buffy…"

She couldn't look away now, too mesmerized by the look he was giving her. Buffy couldn't sort out her feelings, but she knew that something was stirring in her. If she hadn't already been under a vampire's thrall, she probably would have wondered if this was it.

* * *

_This is it, William_, he thought, not feeling nearly as brave as he wanted to. _No turning back_.

"Buffy," he said, pouring every last bit of sentiment he had into those syllables. No telling if he'd have another chance to show her how he felt. "Love, if you don't want to be with me…if it really disgusts you, I won't be some hanger-on in your life. If you want me to be your fighter, I'll do that. Doesn't mean I'm giving up on you. I want you too much to do that. So if you really don't want me, and never will, okay. But…Buffy, if there's some part of you that could see…maybe, someday…if you're thinking about what's right, or wrong, or bloody Angel, or what your friends think, then I want you to see that we could be good together."

She looked at him, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt as if he was really being looked at, not through. Like he mattered; like she could see him. Her eyes were pained, but not angry, like it hurt her just to be around him.

"Spike," she said. "I…I can't. It would be…wrong, so, so, wrong, and I can't even believe I'm thinking about this and – and listening to you say that –"

She stopped. He had a feeling that her saying it would really make her realize it was real. "That I love you," he finished for her. Buffy nodded shyly.

Spike understood, he really did. "I know it's wrong. But, at the same time…it feels right, yeah? Tell me that when we were fighting earlier, you didn't feel like we do it perfectly together." He couldn't help but let his voice dip a little lower on the last few words. A little seduction never hurt anybody, and he could already tell she was being affected by his presence.

She glared at him for the innuendo, but her look lacked her earlier fire. "That's different, Spike."

"Why?" he countered.

"I don't know, it just _is_. Just because you're willing to fight with me doesn't mean you're willing to be good for me. With me. I can't take that risk."

Her lips were almost trembling with some sort of emotion, although her expression was almost stoic. She had curled over the couch, draping her legs over the arm comfortably. She was so close to him now…but to touch her would break the spell. She'd realize who she was talking to, where she was. He'd lose her.

"Buffy."

She didn't look at him.

"I love you," he said again, gently. Almost singing it. The first time, she'd needed to hear it. Now, he needed to say it. "You know that now, love. There's no ignoring it."

Buffy crossed her arms, still glaring at a space three feet away from him. "I can just ignore you."

"How well do you reckon that'll work out, hmm? Especially with this nasty hellgod on the loose. You need me, pet. I just need you to tell me as what. What am I to you?"

She shifted her glare to his face, and if he'd still been William Pratt he certainly would have shrunk back from that stare. "As of now, you're a pain in my ass. I can't be with you. Stop feeling this way."

"One kiss."

Buffy brought her legs back to her body, rocketing with shock. Spike grinned rogueishly. "No!" she said feverishly. "There will be no kissing or any other body part touching here, thank you very much!"

"Just one kiss," Spike repeated. "After that, you can have as long as you like to think on it. Or you can tell me now that there's no part of you that wants this, and really make me believe it. One or the other, Buffy."

"I've already kissed you."

Was that really her only objection? He searched her eyes as he waved his hand dismissively. "That was a spell. Doesn't count, love."

"Fine. You're nothing to me," she said fiercely, looking into his eyes. "I hate you."

It stung, admittedly, but it wasn't anything new. Besides, and he chuckled, "You're gripping that chair arm awfully hard there, sweetheart, and I can feel your heart rate going up. You're considering it, aren't you?"

"No!"

He raised an eyebrow.

Before he knew it, she was out of the couch and standing over him. "I should stake you right now, Spike," Buffy muttered, eyes sliding over his body in a way he understood.

"You should," he agreed.

"I'm just doing this to shut you up."

Her voice was rougher and gentler at the same time. He loved it. He'd never heard her make such a sound. "Of course, love," Spike said.

She kissed him.

He had been dead for over a hundred years, but the second they kissed it was like he'd rediscovered his need for oxygen in her. He gasped her in like a dying man, and all of her hesitation seemed to disappear as soon as their lips touched. She was everywhere, blonde hair tickling his neck and legs lightly wrapped around him, fingers on his arms barely touching him like she could disappear any –

"I can't love you," Buffy whispered into his mouth, breaking his train of thought.

He leaned further in and replied, "Love, I think you've already started."

She flew off of him, pressing a finger to her lips, which were swollen from kissing. Buffy stood for a moment like a statue, looking like the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Then she was gone.

* * *

Getting back to the house was fine. Sneaking in her window was fine. But when she went to strip off her clothes, she hesitated.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was starting to feel _something_ for him. Or maybe her life was just crazy right now, and his shirt was soft, and she needed some comfort.

She fell asleep and tried not to dream of blue eyes.

* * *

_Note: May be continued. We'll see what happens in my brain._


	2. Chapter 2

A Spark of Love

_Chapter Two_

* * *

Buffy rolled over, trying to block out the persistent sunlight. She didn't want to face the day just yet, not when her bed was oh-so-comfortable. Plus, to get up would mean leaving the really yummy dream she'd been having that was already starting to fade from her mind. She remembered wrapping her arms around a strong, cool, familiar body –

_Oh, God_. She sat up suddenly, rubbing away the goosebumps that were crisscrossing her arms. She hadn't just dreamed of Spike. No way.

It wasn't like it was the first time, if she was perfectly honest with herself. Not by a long shot. Still, after the events of the night before, it felt extra-wrong with a dose of this-can't-be-happening.

He was wrong. _This_ was wrong. She couldn't – she didn't – have any feelings for him whatsoever. She would rather admit that Riley had been right and she did have some kind of weird vampire fetish than face the fact (no, not fact, because it wasn't true!) – the impossibility that she could ever feel something for Spike.

Buffy rushed to the bathroom, desperate to scrub any remnants of Spike from her mouth. She couldn't get there fast enough -

"Hey, watch it!"

Dawn crossed her arms and gave her best glare. It was pretty impressive – a lesser Slayer might have quelled. Buffy gave as good as she got, though.

"What are you in such a hurry for, anyway?" her sister asked, looking suspicious. Buffy avoided her penetrating gaze.

"I just needed to brush my teeth, that's all. Mind your own beeswax," she said, realizing after she said it how dorky the phrase was. "Not that you keep bees or whatever."

"Like you'd know if I did! You're never here. I could be keeping a whole house of bees!"

It didn't take a genius to detect the bitterness in Dawn's voice. She was teasing, sure, but she definitely meant it at the same time. Buffy sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Look, Dawn –"

But her sister's eyes were no longer glaring. Instead, she was inspecting Buffy's outfit. "Where did you get that?" she demanded accusingly.

Suddenly self-conscious, she folded her arms over the offending tee as if she was trying to hide it. This didn't do any good, natch. Once Dawn latched onto something, she didn't give up. Her sister's eyes narrowed. "That's Spike's. That's Spike's shirt! And you're wearing it!"

"It's not Spike's," Buffy muttered. She could feel her face heating up. It felt like she was being spotlighted.

Dawn made a noise of disbelief, sounding like she just walked out of a Hilary Duff movie. "Uh, yes it is. I can smell the smoke from here. Oh my _God_."

"It's not what you think."

"Oh my _God_."

Buffy wasn't sure whether Dawn was disgusted or impressed, and she didn't really want her to be either. In fact, she felt like thinking about Spike for another millisecond would definitely explode her brain – or maybe her face, from blushing. "It's really not," she insisted. "There was helpage, that's all. Everything's back to normal."

"The kind of normal where you're wearing his clothes," Dawn said dryly. There was a keen look in her eye, but she shrugged. "I don't really care what you do to or with him or whatever. Just don't drive him away, okay, Buffy?"

She gaped at her sister. "Drive him away? Since when do I drive – I don't even drive, much less –"

Dawn was still giving her that look she hated, so Buffy pushed past her. "I just needed to brush my teeth," she mumbled, slamming the door behind.

Why was it that she suddenly felt like the little sister? She knew what she was doing…or, in this case, what she wasn't doing. Ever. She'd been down the dating-a-vampire road, and it had driven her around the bend. Was that a mixed metaphor?

Ugh. Mornings.

She tried to brush her teeth and go about her routine like usual, but Spike kept popping back up in her head like an unwanted…well, Spike. He was always doing that. It was like he knew exactly when she least wanted to see him.

_He does come in useful sometimes_, Buffy mused. Like when he'd taken care of Dawn and her mom, or when he'd been in her house for some weird (ew) reason (_eww_) that she didn't want to (_nope nope nope_) think about. At all.

And that kiss…

She nearly ripped Spike's shirt in her hurry to get it off of her body. She was in for a rough one.

* * *

Spike was all for rough nights, but his idea of a good one usually involved a lot more nudity and a lot less falling out of bed after rolling over for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Every time he drifted off, his dreams would turn to Buffy, but the pleasant part was always ruined by her pushing him off and walking away.

Groggily, he realized that one of these half-remembered dreams was actually the reality of the night before. He stood, stretched, and let his face break into a satisfied grin.

She might have left, but she did kiss him. And…(this was the really good part)…she had _loved_ it. Didn't take a vampire to sense that – her enjoyment had come off in dizzying waves.

'Course, she was awfully brassed off now. Probably would take her a few days to come around, but then, he'd thought that the night before until she showed up in front of his crypt telling him they needed to talk. Maybe it wasn't so hopeless.

He couldn't keep leaving it all up to the Slayer, though. Spike loved a woman in charge – and Buffy was definitely capable of dominance – but he needed to show her that he could step up too. He hadn't really, properly, chased a bird since his human days (and he'd been too pathetic of a wanker back then to do anything but stare longingly and write poetry), but he'd seen it done enough. Just needed to be there, where she was. Show off his good traits. He hoped he still had a few of those left.

But where would she be? Patrolling, of course. That was a bit cliché, though. Not to mention she needed to see him outside of the work environment, yeah? Show how he could be in a boyfriend role. So where did the Slayer take her boy toys?

Well, to the Bronze. He'd tried that a couple of days ago, and it hadn't gone so hot. Captain Cardboard had spent a fair load of time at Buffy's house, but he didn't want to seem like he was pushing his boundaries with Dawn. Joyce liked him, though. Might swing by when the Niblet would be out, show that he cared about Joyce, too.

Then there was the Magic Box, but he didn't want to give the Watcher more ammo, either. Maybe in a couple of days.

He remembered, suddenly, running into the Slayer at a frat party back a year or so. She'd been with some wanker who hit her and quit her within a couple days, and Spike had been with…Harm. God, what a night that had been. Back when he could still fight the Slayer. What a rush. Couldn't compete with kissing her, though. Nothing could compete with kissing the Slayer. She melted into his mouth, hotter than fire. Even the slightest taste was intoxicating, as proven by his restless night.

By rights, he shouldn't have been up before sunset, but it was barely noon. What could a vamp do to pass the time? There were always daytime soaps, but Spike was almost itchy with nervous energy. Kissing the bloody Slayer was like having a go with an electric socket. He was _wired_.

So he'd find out if there was a party sometime soon, and if so, whether the Slayer was going. If she wasn't…well, he was still a little evil, yeah? He'd spread a rumor around about some sacrifice or whatnot going on at the party and she'd be there in a blink. If she'd been any other college student (or ex college student now, as she'd returned home to care for her Mum) then he would've just advertised the free beer, but Slayer priorities were a bit different. Not to mention he'd heard about the time she'd gotten smashed last year and gone all Cave Buffy. Wouldn't have minded seeing that, to be honest. She didn't show off her feral side nearly enough.

Spike finished pulling on clothes and started gelling back his hair, which had become wild and curly in the night's tosses and turns. Once he felt satisfied with its level of tameness, he started off toward the tunnels.

Willy's was his first stop. After knocking down a pint (if he was going to be up this bloody early he might as well enjoy himself), he showed off his bumpies and hit up a couple of local demons.

"Oh, look, it's Spike!" one particularly ugly specimen, a Miyragor demon, said, with an obnoxiously loud snort. "The Slayer's lapdog! Tell me, boy, does she feed you well? Take you on walks?"

"Well," Spike replied mildly, "in exchange for my _numerous _talents in the bedroom, she occasionally lets me take out piss-for-brains scum like you." In one fluid motion, he slammed the demon's head into the counter. God, he hoped he'd get a couple of splinters at least. Didn't really want to kill the bloke – they'd played poker together more than once, and Spike could usually win against him. Just wanted to put a little fear into him, was all.

It worked – the demon began leaking a blue, somewhat sludgy substance from his pores as he whimpered pathetically. Spike wrinkled his nose, but didn't comment.

"I'll let you live if you tell me about the local nightlife tonight," he said, loudly enough for the other few customers to hear. "The _human_ nightlife, mind you. Is there anything going on somewhere that isn't the bloody Bronze?"

The Miyragor did his best to shrug. "I dunno, man, I'm strictly vegan now, and boy does it feel great. And hey, what's the point in hanging out with humans if you can't gorge on their dandruff, am I right?"

With one last, testy glare, Spike released the demon and wiped his gooey hands on his duster. He scowled at the rest of the bar's patrons. "Well? Any of you wankers keepin' up with the times?"

One timid fledge raised her hand. She couldn't have been more than fourteen when she was turned, and she was so excited that she kept slipping into vamp face even as she spoke. "I heard that there's this, like, _legendary_ party tonight. My, um, my sire-boyfriend and I are going, it's gonna be so grea-"

"Where is it?"

She brushed a few stray brunette strands from her face as she recited an address. Spike stole a pen from a passed-out vamp at the bar and wrote it on his hand.

"Much obliged, pet," he said amicably, capping the pen and slipping it into his pocket. "I'll do you a bit of a favor, too. You and your boyfriend stay away from the party, yeah? Spend the night in, rent a movie or something."

The fledge pouted. "Why?"

"I think I'm gonna take the Slayer on a bit of a date, and I don't reckon she'd much appreciate another vamp gettin' between us." Spike flashed the fledge another grin, gave the Miyragor a two-finger salute, and left.

* * *

"Oh, hey!" Willow said perkily as Buffy strode in. "Here to put a little slay in your day?"

Buffy smiled, distracted. Not behind the counter, not stocking shelves, and she couldn't hear anyone in the back…"Where's Giles? I thought we'd get some quality training in. What, did he ditch to catch a movie or something?"

"He stepped out," the witch replied vaguely. "Anyhoo, this gives us time to catch up. How'd it go with – y'know – the whole Spike-crushing thing?" She leaned in conspiratorially, eyes lighting up.

Buffy swallowed. Again. It felt like she was some kind of weird snake-thing trying to swallow a whole egg. She'd seen one do that at a zoo when she was about eight and it had stuck in her brain for some reason. Maybe she'd always had a pull to the dangerous. To the…the _wrong_ and…_impossible_, and no, she wasn't gonna kiss Spike again.

Probably.

She suddenly realized that Willow was still looking at her expectantly. "That good, huh?" her friend said dryly.

Buffy bit the inside of her cheek. "No, no, it was – fine. We're fine."

"Fine? What did you do, just beat him up until he was all, 'Hey, I don't bloody like the bloody Slayer'?"

"Uh, well, actually I – "

But before Buffy could scramble for some sure-to-be-terrible lie, the door swung open and Giles entered, carrying a large paper sack. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Giles, here, let me get that for you," she ordered, hopping up and taking the package from him, easily holding it over one shoulder. "You sit down and have some leaf water or whatever it takes for you stodgy British types to get all hyped up for training, because I am totally jazzed this morning." She gave him her best winning smile as she set the sack down on the table.

"Er, well…thank you, Buffy. I think I'll just have a bit of coffee, if you can contain yourself long enough for that." Giles said the last part under his breath.

"I know you've been all about the motivation lately, Buffy, but you sure seem extra pep-tastic this morning," Willow commented, flipping absently through one of the spellbooks she'd removed from the brown bag.

The Slayer laughed, not a little nervously. "Well, you know me. I just had a big old bowl of…pep…this morning. Start the day off right."

Honestly, Buffy just wanted a safe space to work off all of this completely non-Spike-related tension. And also to get away from prying Willow eyes. She was suddenly very grateful that she hadn't mentioned the whole Spike sitch to her Watcher. The last thing she needed was another pair of perceptive eyes that she could almost feel seeing right through to the events of the night before.

It's not like she should be feeling this guilty. She kissed him, that was it! It wasn't like it was her first time kissing a vamp. Hell, it wasn't even her first time kissing Spike, thanks to Willow's magical intervention last year.

So these guilty feelings were silly. She was silly, for making such a big deal out of it. She had just been proving a point to Spike, and now the point was proven. 101%. She didn't want him, she wasn't going to kiss him. She wasn't even going to think about how his lips were really nice and full and soft, or the way he had been surprisingly gentle but passionate, or how it had barely been a kiss, not really, so it didn't even count, which meant she could totally break down his door and say that they should have a free trial. Then he'd do that little seductive smile and that _thing_ with his tongue that sent little bits of electricity through her body, and then they'd be kissing, just wrapped up in each other and not talking. Well, except he could maybe say her name every now and then, in that husky kind of tone he had sometimes. That would be okay.

"Hey, Buffy."

She blinked herself out of her not-at-all-Spike-related fantasy world to see Tara in front of her. Buffy offered her friend an apologetic smile. "Hey!"

"Sorry, you seemed spaced, but I had just been, um, reminding Willow about this p-party we were invited to, and I, uh, wondered if you might want to go," she said, twisting her hands a little. Buffy realized that Tara still wasn't used to initiating Scooby plans. She wasn't really in a party mood, but for Tara's sake…

Plus, vampire-free zone.

"Yeah, sounds like fun! We can, uh, gather up the whole gang. Just hang out and stuff. It'll be fun."

Buffy wasn't really sure who she was reassuring anymore, but Tara smiled awkwardly again and disappeared into the back room.

Training was…interesting. She was a little off her game.

"Buffy, really! Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?" Giles asked finally, wiping sweat from his brow in exasperation.

"Yeah! Well…kind of. Could you maybe repeat like the last…four paragraphs?"

Even the winning smile couldn't save her this time. Giles gave her his trademark Fatherly Sigh and took a seat on the bench. "Is this about Spike?"

It was like all the air was sucked from the room, which somehow caused all of her blood to rush directly to her head. "What? How did you – What?"

Giles cleared his throat and looked at her. She superstitiously tried to clear her mind of all the _baddirtywrong_ vampire fantasies currently crawling across her synapses. Or between. Whatever. She had barely passed intro Psych anyway, and the fact that her professor had been a crazed psychopath murdered by her own cyber-Frankenstein hadn't really helped matters.

"Joyce called me," he explained gently. "While you were out. She didn't tell me the details, but, well, I could hardly say I was surprised. It does provide quite a context for his more…selfless behavior of late."

Buffy looked away. "Yeah, I guess it does."

"I know that Spike has been lending a hand lately. If you need me to, well, pick up the slack in any way, I would be happy to."

She gave him a grateful smile, but shrugged off the offer. "It's really okay, Giles. Five by five – okay, so I still don't know what that means, but anyway. We talked it out."

Giles looked taken aback, and not a little skeptical. "The somewhat psychotic, leashed vampire who spent years trying to kill you falls in love with you and – you 'talk it out'?"

"Well…sometimes he can be reasoned with."

* * *

"I'm not going to be bloody reasoned with!"

Spike glared fiercely at the well-meaning demon. Clem stood there awkwardly, slipping his hands into the folds of his skin like they were pockets.

"Well, I'm just saying, you know, maybe give her a little space," he said, frowning.

Spike scoffed. Like he'd ever take advice from Clem, especially in matters of the heart. He was a nice bloke, all things considered, but he was about as assertive as a plate of Jell-O. "I can't do that," he said, like he was talking to a child. "She'll listen to her little gang and before I know it, ol' Spike will be out on his duff. I've gotta make my move and show her that I'm worth a second go, which means I have to get to that party…"

Clem held up his watch helpfully.

_Balls_.

"Five minutes ago. It's been lovely, give my best to your mum."

"Good luck!" Clem called after him. "I'll tape _Dawson's Creek_ for you!"

He could smell the party before he opened the door. Cheap beer, cheap perfume, and sweat. Like a bloody potpourri of Californian college students. Some preppy kid opened the door and invited him in without Spike even having to ask a thing.

He chuckled to himself. Lucky for them that he wasn't a danger to humans anymore. Honestly, how could anybody in Sunnydale be so daft as to invite a stranger in their house?

Spike quickly scanned the crowd. Seemed Scooby-free. His stomach clenched. If she didn't show up…

He would have watched the whole bloody evening and made Clem tape _Dawson's_ for nothing. Screw it. Wasn't like he'd had any big plans for the night anyway. At least here they'd have some tasty food, although he wasn't going to count on them having any booze worth drinking. Spike made his way over to the little snack bar, where a few awkward-looking twentysomethings were hovering around the chips and dip. He ignored them and went straight for the hot wings.

God, nothing had changed since his day. The women wore shorter skirts and the men (if they could be called that) were in sandals. The music was louder and played by a DJ. Other than that, it could have been a carbon copy of an evening at the Underwoods', or any such family. He could spot it right over there. Nerdy bloke, lovely girl, in the corner. She was talking to him, all right, but any idiot could see that she was gazing at some other wanker, who was lovestruck over some other bird. It was laughable.

What was even more laughable was how well he fit in. Over a hundred, and here he was staking out a party just to see if some woman who acted as if she didn't care would show up. Pathetic.

He was shaken from his introspection (_not_ brooding, dammit!) by the unpleasant sound of a very familiar voice. At that moment, it might have been angels singing or what all, because he felt himself smiling. Xander Harris was here. That meant…

"Ooh, Buffy, there are the snacks!" rang out Red's cheerful voice. His smile grew just a little wider as the three girls drew closer, Buffy flanked by Willow and Tara. "And the drinks and the…"

"Spike," Buffy cut in, glaring. It looked gorgeous on her, like everything did, and her little ensemble tonight was just the icing on the cake. "Who really, _really_ shouldn't be here."

His first instinct was to snipe right back at her, but the look in her eyes gave him a bit of pause. That wasn't pure hostility shining in her eyes, like he expected. She looked pissed off enough, sure, but she also seemed almost vulnerable. Was she afraid of having her mates find out that she'd been kissing the Big Bad?

Spike gave her his best adoring smile – didn't take much to conjure one up, thinking about her kissing him again. "You're right, Buffy," he agreed readily. "I shouldn't be here. I just got a bit…lonely. But…I should go, yeah? Not my place. I just thought…"

She frowned at him, like she was trying to pick out his ulterior motive. _Good luck, Slayer_. "Thought what?"

He cut his eyes obviously to Red and Tara, who were watching raptly. "Thought you might want to talk about the other night, lover," he said, all innocent and _sotte voce_.

_Oh yes_. That was it. The Slayer turned a fiery red. "Excuse me?" she hissed, eyes flaring. "Noth – don't call me – _urgh_." She grabbed him by his jacket collar and pulled him to a more remote corner of the room, only sparing a quick glance back at the other Scoobies.

He'd been so long with enhanced hearing that he couldn't guess if they'd heard what he said or not, but Buffy was obviously invested in keeping her friends in the dark. So, just to brass her off, he leaned in intimately. "Couldn't stay away, eh?"

"Spike!" Buffy shoved him away, and he thanked whatever deity didn't hate him too much for his grace in that moment as he narrowly avoided falling into a couple of co-eds. He regained his balance and raised an eyebrow at the Slayer.

"That was weak. Just don't have the heart to be mean to me anymore, do you?" he teased, licking his lips. Spike could feel her tense up.

"What do you want?" she asked through gritted teeth, folding her arms.

Spike mimicked her pose, but allowed his face to drop into a seductive expression. "Oh, baby, I think you already know."

"Okay, number one – that kiss didn't mean anything, and it never happened, and we're never talking about it again because it never happened. Got it? Number two – if you think I won't kick your ass in a room full of strangers, you're dead wrong. This conversation is over." She started to turn.

He caught her arm gently. She looked at him, surprised, but didn't remove him.

"So if the kiss didn't mean anything to you, I guess you'd just, what, throw me out a window if I tried to kiss you now?"

* * *

She could have sworn that her blood froze. It was like she'd directly deposited about a dozen Popsicles into her veins.

Buffy tried her best to recover. "I wouldn't have to, because you wouldn't try."

"Ooh," he said under his breath. How could he even do that? He was a vampire, vampires didn't need to breathe. Spike sure breathed a lot for an undead person…thing. Thing, not a person. Yep, denial!Buffy was back. "Is that a challenge, pet?"

She suddenly thought a lot of words that she would never use around Dawn. "No, nope, definitely not," she said quickly.

"Sure sounded like one to me," he mused, reaching up to tangle his hand in her hair. She swallowed and looked over at the Scoobies. They all seemed to be distracted by a very pretty girl – Willow and Xander, in particular, seemed interested in looking at her for as long as possible.

Not that that would make this okay. It was still _Spike_, and she was still _Buffy_, and right now she wanted nothing more than to be pressing her lips to his, weirdness be damned.

But…she wasn't just Buffy. She was also the Slayer, and she wasn't going to repeat the badness of her junior year of high school just to get some smoochies. Only it would be times ten because, hello, _Spike_. Already soulless and evil (even if he wasn't very good at it anymore).

She pushed him away, seriously this time. He looked disappointed, but he didn't try to stop her. Buffy left wordlessly, struggling with every step not to look back at him, knowing what his face would look like.

_It's just lust. He's just a dumb vampire and once I meet a real guy, one who can _be _with me and_-

She heard screams.

Her first instinct was to turn back and look at Spike, who had lost the kicked-puppy look and now appeared as confused as she felt. He raised an eyebrow; she shrugged slightly.

The sound of broken glass.

Buffy whirled and ran, vaguely aware of Spike's footsteps following hers. The pretty girl the others had been talking was standing there in front of the window, and a bloodied body was just visible on the outside.

"Keep her from going anywhere," she ordered. Spike nodded.

Buffy leapt out the window, heart beating like a million times a minute. This was all her fault, so caught up in…_talking_ to Spike that something like this happened practically right under her nose. Well, okay, behind her back, but still. In her general vicinity, and she was the Slayer, and it was bad. And wrong, and proof that Spike was bad news. Not that she needed proof. Obviously.

The man was pretty seriously hurt, but not dead. More tellingly, he didn't have any bite marks or other defining marks. He just looked like he'd had the crap beaten out of him, by fists. Small fists.

Buffy clambered back into the room full of madness. Spike was on the floor, a little bloody but not too much the worse for wear. She strode up to the girl, who on closer inspection appeared to be a robot.

"Hey, can you maybe just calm your – whoa."

She narrowly ducked a punch Robo-Girl threw, and used the momentum to slam her to the floor. Robo-Girl seemed unfazed.

"Where's Warren?" she asked loudly. "I don't like the people at this party."

"Why did you hurt that man?" Buffy asked warily.

Robo-Girl shrugged. "He touched me. I don't let anyone touch me except my boyfriend."

"Warren."

Her smile grew even wider. _Uncanny valley, much? _"Yeah," she said with a dreamy sigh. "Do you know where he is?"

Buffy wasn't sure how to answer, but in her moment of hesitation, ambulance sirens began to sound. Someone must have called 911. Robo-Girl turned tail and ran out, at a speed even Buffy wasn't sure she could match.

"You'll get 'er, love," said a voice, and she felt the familiar tingles on her neck and in her stomach. Buffy was aware that Spike was standing right behind her, and her already-accelerated heartbeat sped to Riley-post-Initiative proportions. "And while you're at it, pay her back for me, will you? Think she dislocated my shoulder." Spike grimaced.

"Thanks," she said honestly. "It's nice to have someone else less fragile to throw at the bad guys."

Up went the scarred eyebrow again. "That what I am to you, sweetheart? Just a tough little chew toy to keep the nasties occupied?"

Buffy shrugged. "Well, you asked," she replied, knowing he would understand what she meant.

He did, and a slow smile spilled over his lips. "Better than your last answer. Don't expect I could get an encore of that k-"

"No," she said firmly, but she could tell her eyes weren't serious as she said it. The Scoobies had gathered around during the exchange, although from the lack of stones thrown at her they hadn't caught on to the innuendo.

Buffy looked around at her friends. Tara was still looking out the window as the paramedics took the man away. Willow wrapped an arm around her lover's waist, smiling encouragingly. Xander and Anya looked like they'd just broken apart from dancing, and their hands were still linked. She couldn't look at Spike.

Buffy offered the group a smile. "I think we're gonna be Bronzing it tonight, guys. If that's okay, I mean. It's still early, and who knows, we might even catch little miss Terminator."

They nodded and provided their assent. Only when they began to file away through the crowd did she turn to Spike, still waiting at her side like a faithful puppy. She stifled a giggle at the image.

"Am I welcome at this little gathering?" he asked, obviously trying to keep any emotion from his voice.

Buffy looked at him, really looked at him. He _had_ been helpful lately, and she could definitely control her hormones for a couple of hours…right?

"Will you play nice?" she replied teasingly.

His tight lips broken into a grin. "Well, I won't make any promises…"

This was going to be mega-interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

A Spark of Love

_Chapter Three_

* * *

It was like he'd stepped into some wild alternate reality. The Slayer inviting him to hang out with her little gang? A year ago he would have laughed himself silly over the idea and now he was trailing behind her like the whipped mutt he was.

She was hardly welcoming him with open arms, but he reckoned it wouldn't be too long before she fell victim to his charms again. Or so the Spike part of himself told him, anyway. William was a little more pessimistic.

God, just thinking about the Slayer made him have multiple personalities. This was sad.

She was out on the floor, living it up with her mates – or most of them. Tara alone hung back, looking all pensive. He wondered if that look was what had drawn Red to her. The witch had taste, he had to admit it. Tara seemed like a decent sort, and she was definitely good-looking. Not to mention she was open-minded, which made her a breath of fresh air in Spike's opinion. The bloody Scoobies didn't deserve her.

As he was thinking this, he suddenly realized that he'd been staring at her the whole damn time. _There goes her open-mindedness, I'm sure_.

Instead, she offered him a shy smile. "I…I don't really like dancing. Except slow dances, sometimes."

Tara was trying to start a polite conversation with him. Spike felt himself grin back, almost without realizing it. Red _had_ done something right. "Dancing's a bit of all right, as long as you've got the right partner. Why don't you steal your girl away? They can do without her for a few."

There was some kind of look in her eye, he noticed. Some glint that hinted of something beyond her sweet exterior. "Well, I can't. If I did that, Buffy wouldn't have anyone to dance with."

_Huh_. Was that her game? She was on his side?

Well, God have mercy on her bleedin' soul. "I don't think Slayer'd dance with me," he said carefully. "I've offered before."

Tara looked out at the dance floor again. Spike followed her line of sight to where the other four were whirling around to the tune of some mindless pop tune. Buffy was right in the middle, gleaming like molten sunshine. Her every movement went beyond dancing: she was sex, death, poetry.

"Maybe you haven't been asking right."

Following her. Fighting with her. Working with her. Trying to kill her, way back when…okay, that had been flawed.

But kissing her, that had been entirely right. And as she smiled (even if it wasn't at him) – he had a feeling she knew it too.

"Yeah," he said, suddenly breathless. "I reckon that's true."

So he moved to her, step by step, weaving through the crowd. Couldn't help but be reminded of the first time he'd seen her, moving in this same little club with her same little friends to the same kind of music. But he wasn't the same anymore. Back then, all he'd wanted to do was rip her throat out, dance with her in the deliciously violent way he still craved – but he'd never wish her dead now. He'd die again before he'd let that happen.

She wasn't the same, either. Older, stronger, wiser. More cynical, but also more beautiful. Time and trials had hardened her, but not past the point of no return.

Hell, he didn't even know if there was a place like that. You'd think he would have reached it by now, but even after a hundred years of murdering the innocent, he turned into the same puddle-of-goo wanker he'd always been at just the sight of her.

God, he was close now. He pushed his way through the crowd more quickly, ready to reach her, ready to ask her because in that moment, he felt like he could.

He was almost there…

The air that had caressed her warm body was empty, and the warmth growing in the pit of his stomach faded. She was gone.

* * *

Buffy shoved her way through the bathroom door and heaved a sigh. She'd felt the familiar tingles and knew that Spike was watching her. That had been okay. Then he'd come closer and, well, she'd bolted like a bolting thing. She just wasn't ready to deal with any of this weirdness. It was way too awkweird trying to straddle – no, that was _not_ a good word to be thinking right now – to stand on either side of this line between enemy and friend and partner and ? and it was just a catastrophe of badness.

Plus, she really had to pee.

She did so, and as she was washing her hands, Willow came in, looking a little sweaty but none the worse for wear. Whatever that meant. The redhead pushed back a stray hair and smiled, but before Buffy could leave, her friend grabbed her arm.

"Buffy," Willow said, in that tone that immediately pressed Buffy's panic button. Was everyone okay? Were there vamps in the building? Had something happened to Dawn? "I, uh, need to ask you something."

"What's wrong?"

She looked aside. "Nothing's _wrong_, exactly, just…what's with this whole Spike thing? Because I gotta be honest, I'm not buying that talking it out solved all your problems. I mean, normally your vampire stalkers are a little bit harder to shake."

Buffy shrugged and leaned back against the sink, bracing herself with her palms. The cold surface reminded her uncomfortably of the feel of Spike's skin when she had…

"Everything's fine," she insisted quickly. "I'm handling him. I mean, it. No, that's not - I mean, not – not _physically_ handling. Just ora – _verbally_. Verbal handlage."

"Uh-huhhh."

Willow wasn't buying it. Buffy tried harder. "Look, it's major league weird but that's what we deal in. I think everything will be fine."

The other woman bit her lip. "Buff, it's not like I don't have faith in you but – we were talking about how crazy these things can get and I'm worried. If you keep working with Spike like this…he's going to think he has a chance, with you. Which is crazy. Right?"

Buffy felt like her skin was suddenly transparent and all of her feelings could just bubble up to the surface, right out there for Willow to see. She swallowed at least three times and became really good friends with the floor.

It _was_ crazy. Because even if, by some weird freak accident happenstance that could never, _ever_ be a thing…she couldn't be with him. Not because of her, not even necessarily because of him, but because of the whole life thing. The Scoobies would never be okay with it, her mom would never be okay with it, Giles would _kill _her…and they'd all be right.

Just because Spike wasn't all souly didn't mean he couldn't flip out and start killing people all willy-nilly. Giles had said more than once that if the vampire had really wanted them dead, he could have made arrangements with other demons. What if he started taking out her friends? Or what if the chip stopped working?

Or, worst of all, what if none of this happened and she would have to cope with the reality of these feelings for Spike and they'd end up kissing again and maybe, you know, other stuff, and then there would be immense badness and her mom would cry and Xander would probably move to Poland or something and she'd be kicked out of her house and she'd have to live with Spike in his crypt and…

Okay, far-fetched. But still. Every path she thought of led to badness, one way or another.

"Buffy? You still here?"

She swallowed one more time, for good measure. "Yeah. I'm here. You're right. I shouldn't let him think that it's even the remotest of remote possibilities. Complete life-shutting-out is the way to go."

Complete life-shutting-out was definitely easier in theory, she thought as she opened the door only to be confronted by Spike.

Had his eyes always been that blue?

He offered her a disarming smile, which only made her hate him a little more. Things had been so much easier when they were just mortal enemies, even if they had been really bad about letting each other live. At least then they had pretenses to hide behind.

"Thought you'd been spirited away, love," he said, in that not-at-all-sexy accent that didn't even slightly make her melt. At all.

She was strong!Buffy. "Yeah, I had to go take care of human needs. Uh, so, I don't think the robot is here and you know, I'm…_really_ tired so I'm just gonna hit the hay. With my head. I'm gonna go to bed."

Then, suddenly worried that he would pick up on the unintentional innuendo, she added pointedly, "Alone."

He smirked, but he seemed more hurt than seductive. Great. Just what she needed, an overly sensitive vampire stalker. That she didn't like. Like, at all.

God, she sucked at denial.

"So I'm gonna go."

But she was really, really good at running away from her problems. She grabbed her stuff, said a quick goodbye to her friends, and left Spike standing there at a loss.

For about a minute.

* * *

"Slayer, wait!"

He sprinted after her, matching her pace with a little effort. She turned to glare at him and – it was wrong to think this now, when she was obviously upset, but she was hot as hell when she was angry. That little pouting lip and the way her eyes got all big and ferocious…her breathing sped up and he could almost feel her blood pumping and rushing and driving that pretty little tongue as it carved out cruel words for him…

Cruel words that she was speaking right now.

"Spike, are you even listening to me?"

Now her hands were on her hips, those lovely hips. He liked them better when she was dancing, though. Or fighting, although with her the two were one and the same. Another thing they had in common – a proper appreciation for the arts of the body.

"'Course I was," he answered promptly. "Leave you alone, you're tired, no more patrolling for nasties tonight and also probably some unimaginative insult."

"My insults are _not_ unimaginative, you…stupid radioactive-haired vampire!" she said, nearly hissing out the words.

Spike _tried_ not to smile at her, he really did. She was just so…cute.

(And he was so far gone that even Angel could have taken the mickey out of him for being a sap).

"Right, well, anyway, I just wanted to walk you home. Not right to end a date so abruptly," he said, making his voice intentionally low and silky.

Yeah, he was pushing her buttons. Wasn't his fault that was how she liked him. He could see the way her pupils dilated and her breath caught when he called it a "date", and he silently resolved to do it again at least once before the end of the night.

"This was _not_ a date, Spike."

"What was it missing, hm? Went to a party, had a nice spot of violence, then went to the club with your mates. I offered to buy you a drink, not my fault you turned me down. And, of course, the goodnight kiss…but that's yet to come, right, pet?"

Buffy was walking faster, not looking at him anymore. "What was missing was a guy. A human guy that I could actually be with. I don't care what you think I'm feeling, none of it matters. This is just some sick daydream and you need to…get over it."

"_I _need to get over it?" he repeated incredulously. "You're the one deluding yourself into thinking that there's nothing between us!"

That was it, apparently. She rounded on him, full Slayer fury directed at one relatively defenseless vamp.

"There is nothing between us!"

Damned lies. He could feel her light up from his touch, and he almost wished they could fight again just so he could experience her intake of breath every time their bodies brushed.

"I can't be with you!"

The hell was she even talking about? Was as simple as just being. Should come naturally. Seemed to him that they were the only thing that made sense, as messed up as it was. It still almost disgusted him, the depths of feelings for her.

But he'd gotten over it.

"I can't love you!"

That was…

He didn't deserve her. Spike knew that, at least. He wasn't a complete idiot. She was perfection embodied, she was the bloody Slayer and he…well, he was just an ex-killer who watched too much telly.

She didn't love him. He was pretty sure that he knew that, too. But all of this was resting on the idea, the notion that she could, someday. Because he felt a connection, and assumed it would be as natural for her as it was for him.

Maybe it wasn't.

He suddenly remembered the alley, memories he'd tried to push away months ago. _"You're beneath me."_

That whole scene had been eclipsed later by her allowing him to comfort her and to hold her in his arms. Didn't mean it didn't happen. Maybe he was too far beneath her to ever mean enough to her. Maybe everything she'd been saying was true, and he was just being a wanker about the whole thing.

Unless…

"Can't, love, or won't?" he asked gently.

They were close to her house now, and it wasn't long until morning. The very first whispers of sunrise would steal their way any minute now. If she was going to tell him a hard truth for her to admit, it would be now, before the light made things real.

Buffy didn't look at him. "Can't," she said quietly. Her voice trembled slightly, and her hands were balled into fists.

There was something else in her tone that made his heart swell like the sudden leap of a violin. Bloody hell, he really was becoming that ponce William again. Buffy brought out the best and the worst in him, and he wasn't sure which category this rush of poetic description fell into. As long as he kept it to himself, he supposed it wasn't too bad. God forbid the Slayer got ahold of one of his notebooks. He'd probably stake himself right then and there.

Despite this new sentimentality, however, Spike had the stones to do what William never would have dared. It was a rough choice, potentially losing the Slayer either way, but he went with his intuition, as he often did.

Spike asked another question.

"Can't, love, or don't?"

For a second he thought the sun had come up and he was on fire, the way her eyes caught onto his. He felt fevered, a sensation he barely remembered. A shock pulsed through his body, like the echoes of a long-lost heartbeat.

"Can't," she said again, voice hushed, eyes not breaking away from his. "I…I just can't."

Buffy began to disappear into her doorway. He reached forward to catch her arm.

* * *

_Oh, no, _she thought desperately. This couldn't be happening.

It was like everything was in slow-mo as his hand touched the invisible barrier. This hadn't been how she wanted Spike to find out. In fact, she hadn't wanted him to ever find out. She had been planning on covertly re-inviting him so it was never an issue, because she hadn't wanted to see the look on his face that was there right now.

His eyes were so blue as they met hers, wounded and vulnerable. He looked almost like a human, almost like a little boy, almost like a man.

It was too much for her.

She wrenched her arm out of his grip. "I'm sorry."

Buffy didn't want to hear the words she could see forming on his lips. She didn't want to see him at all. It was like Willow had infiltrated her brain and all she could think of was that look on her face.

Willow's concern. Spike's hurt. Dawn's apprehension. The images flicked through her brain. She was so tired of hurting her loved ones with her choices. This wouldn't happen again. Even if she was hurting Spike, it would be better for him in the end.

_No chance with me_. _No chance with me_.

She didn't get happily-ever-afters, especially not with soulless creatures. She was the Slayer, little more than a sacred duty. She had people to protect.

So she shut the door. It felt like she'd slammed it on her heart, but she refused to look back.

Buffy crept up to her bed, careful not to wake her mom or Dawn. It was almost sunrise, but she felt like the life had been sucked right out of her.

Being tough with Spike hadn't been so hard before. It was like, somehow, he'd wormed his way into her heart and into her life, like by kissing him she gave him some magical in to her thoughts and dreams.

She wasn't a fan. Even without the badness of him being in lo – _thinking_ he was in love with her, developing any kind of attachment to a soulless vampire screamed "not a good plan".

He had to be nothing to her. She had to make him nothing to her. It was the only way.

But for now, she could just lose herself to sleep.

* * *

The graveyard was empty, and unnaturally still. Buffy took a deep breath and tensed her muscles as the wind brushed against her.

She felt so _alive_.

A vampire was rising in her grave. Twenty feet away. Buffy sensed it, somehow, and she didn't question how. She knew it like she knew that the vampire had been only a few years older than she was, like she knew she had exactly thirty-two seconds until the fledge would recognize her presence.

She didn't move. She barely even breathed. Her fingers gripped her stake gently, more like holding a lover's hand than grabbing a weapon. There was no fear, only pure adrenaline.

The fledge was behind her now, stumbling a little. Going for the kill. Buffy closed her eyes as the vampire slid her fingers around the Slayer's neck.

Then, quicker than she'd ever moved before, she took hold of the vampire's neck from behind and flipped her, hearing a satisfying snap. The body disintegrated almost instantly.

_No stake, no shoes, no problem_, she thought, satisfied.

The wind had slowed.

"Hello, Spike."

Her eyes were still shut, but she could sense him moving closer after her greeting. The clouds sped across the sky, casting shadows across her eyelids as the moonlight danced on her skin.

"Can't be as much fun dancing alone," he said, voice very very close to her ear, although he still seemed to her to be quite far away. Her skin cried for his touch. "Need a partner?"

"I don't need anybody," Buffy said, but the words seemed to come from outside her body. They were true, however. "I am power."

He was in front of her now. "Maybe it doesn't always have to be about need."

"Where's my stake?" she demanded, opening her eyes. Spike was gone.

It couldn't be. She reached forward to touch the ground where he had been, sifting the dirt through her fingers.

"What's wrong?" Dawn asked suddenly, taking one of her hands. Buffy looked at her, almost unseeing.

She frowned. "I need to protect you," she explained, cupping the dirt in her hands once more and spreading it over Dawn's forehead like an anointing. "I did what I have to."

Her sister looked at her blankly. "You forgot my gift," she complained, suddenly seeming very small and young. Buffy could remember her being this age, always tearing up over something or the other.

None of it was real. All of it was real.

"I threw it away."

* * *

Buffy woke up in a sweat and dashed into Dawn's room.

Empty. Before she panicked, though, she noticed that the clock said it was already 10:30 in the morning.

She shivered as she poured herself a bowl of cereal. Her dream had been so vivid, almost like a Slayer dream. It couldn't be, though. It didn't make any sense.

Of course, her dream years ago about Drusilla killing Angel hadn't made that much sense, either, until later. What if…

She was still too tired to be thinking about this. Buffy resolved to talk to Giles about it that night.

* * *

At this rate, he was going to need to nick another pack of cigarettes before night fell. Spike sighed as he lit another, alternately pacing the floor and punching the walls.

What had he missed? Had aliens abducted and brainwashed the Slayer while she was in the ladies' room? Nothing else could explain her change of heart, not when she'd been making those doe-eyes at him and looking all come-hither not half an hour before.

Unless it wasn't a change of heart. She couldn't have disinvited him then, she had to already have. But when? And why?

Sure, he'd been pretty bad in the past, but he hadn't tried to kill her in ages. Matter of fact, even when he _was_ trying to kill her, she still left the open-door policy on her house.

She couldn't be scared of him, then. She never had been, even when she knew he'd taken out two Slayers in his time and was looking to nail a third. Buffy had always been all stuck-up, bitchy, and full of herself.

So if she wasn't scared of him, then the answer was simple. Only one other person she could be afraid of: herself.

Spike knew the Slayer was an emotionally backwards bint, but even from her this was bloody ridiculous. Suddenly angry, he threw the fag on the ground and stomped it out.

He almost envied his past self. Sure, he'd been in love with a cheating lunatic, but at least he'd been happy, for the most part. At least it'd been easy enough to deal with Dru's brand of crazy, but the Slayer's, that was a whole different kettle of fish. Her method of emotional coping seemed to be to push away everyone who gave a damn about her.

What was she afraid of? That she'd give in to temptation and ravish him the first chance she got? That he'd finally brass her off so much that she'd stake him? That she'd have to face up to her little friends when the truth came out? It would, naturally. The truth had a way of outing itself.

Maybe he should just give the truth a little helping hand. See how the Slayer felt when her gang found out she'd been halfway into the Big Bad's lap. Maybe it'd hurt her, but it'd be the good kind of hurt, yeah? Like ripping off a Band-Aid. That kind of denial couldn't be healthy.

He couldn't just up and tell them, though. They wouldn't believe him, and what's worse, Buffy would never give him a second glance after that. No, he had to be craftier. Get her to tell them, somehow.

But how? That was a quandary. What could be more important to the Slayer than her bloody pride? Not him, that's for sure. Dawn. He could persuade her that the Slayer had seriously hurt him in some way, or that he had some kind of info to tell her. But could he really play the Bit in that way?

Well, probably, but it was moot anyway. She'd see right through him.

Spike _could_ just wait until she came to him again, like before. Might get him somewhere, but at what cost? He wasn't the waiting around sort. Better to just go. Maybe talk to the Nibblet, maybe bring Joyce flowers. Anything to get re-invited.

Motivated by an almost righteous frenzy, he leaped up, sliding his duster over him as easily as if it were part of him. He also snatched a ratty blanket before heading down into the sewers. No need to literally burn up for his love.

Joyce answered the door, frowning and looking concerned. Wasn't a good look on her, he noted. In fact, maybe it wasn't just the worry doing it. She seemed pale, and not for the first time he remembered Buffy being upset enough about her mum's condition to cry on his shoulder.

"'lo, Joyce," he managed, remembering his manners a little too late. "Hope you're well. May I come in?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Spike," she said evenly, but despite her evident calm, Spike could tell that her knuckles were turning white as she gripped the door frame.

"Look, I don't know what the Slay – bloody hell," he said suddenly, as her face whitened further. "Joyce, let me in. You need to take a nice lie down."

"I'm fine," Joyce repeated firmly.

But God, she didn't look it. A sudden wave of nausea hit Spike as his predator's instincts alerted him to something that he had already feared. She was almost gone.

_Take her now_, his demon screamed.

_Save her now_, cried the man.

"And you need to –"

But he didn't get to find out what it was he needed to do.

* * *

She flipped the robot over, holding her down. "Pushing people through windows – is _not_ – responsible behavior," Buffy explained patiently. "And also? The whole 'no one can touch me except my boyfriend' is kind of weird and slavish and disgustingly medieval. Not that it's your fault. I think your boyfriend is the one who needs to be reprogrammed."

April squirmed weakly, obviously running out of battery. "Warren does not need to be reprogrammed! He is perfect just the way he is – brilliant _and _sexyyyy."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Ugh, have you even seen him? Talk about gross."

"Slayer!"

A few familiar sensations flooded her body again. Ignoring the fire pit in her stomach, Buffy rose and turned to face Spike. "Speak of the devil – or, in this case, an annoying bleached wannabe. What part of get lost was lost on you? Also, I think you're about to catch fire."

She was pleased with her attempt at normalcy until she caught sight of Spike's face beneath the sizzling blanket. He was deathly pale, which shouldn't have been strange for a dead guy, but it was jarring on his usually expressive face. The only sign of emotion was the widening of his eyes. He looked almost…afraid.

"It's your mum."

He was lying.

He had to be.

This was Spike. Truthfulness was, like, his bane. This was some dumb, cruel joke, or some kind of attempt to get into her pants.

Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. She had never seen Spike look so utterly terrified and miserable, even during his post-chip depression.

"Where are you going?" April asked.

Buffy gritted her teeth, afraid she would begin crying if she answered. She gave Spike a quick glance of confirmation before she took off running.

It was like the ground propelled her, making her go farther and faster. She had never run so quickly in her life.

_Nononononono_ was the only thought she was registering as they neared Revello Drive. An ambulance was parked outside. The door was ajar.

She burst through the door, ignoring Spike's warnings. The people from the ambulance were gathered around Joyce like vultures around carrion.

Buffy felt the sudden urge to vomit.

"Is she – will she – can you –" she stammered, unable to look into the man's eyes. He was standing between her and Mom. Why was he standing there? Why couldn't she reach her mother?

The ambulance man said something. She couldn't understand.

Why was everybody acting like this was real? This couldn't be how things went. Reality had monsters, things she could fight.

_Mom had to be able to fight._

"No," she tried to explain. "She can't be –"

A cool hand brushed her shoulder.

_No_.

"Love," he said, unspeakably gentle.

_He can't be here_.

"She's gone."

At first she thought Spike had said it, or maybe even ambulance man. But the words had escaped her own lips. She stared blankly, still in shock.

_If he's here, then the person who was here to do the uninviting has to be…_

"She's gone."


	4. Chapter 4

A Spark of Love

_Chapter Four_

* * *

He'd faced demons from the depths of Hell, Angelus at his prime, and even an apocalypse or two. Not only that, but he'd confessed his love to the bleeding Slayer when he was chipped and helpless. But none of that was as scary as seeing Buffy all ragged and weak.

Spike would have liked to think that he'd been able to stick around and lend a helping hand where it was needed because Buffy really wanted him there, but honestly, he knew she just didn't have the energy to push him away. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't taking some advantage of that fact, even if it made him feel a little guilty to know that he'd be out on his bum if not for Joyce's untimely passing.

For God's sake (if he could still say that, as an unholy demon – after all, he had done more earnest praying in the last couple of weeks than ever in his adult human life), she'd uninvited him. Done all she could to try and remove him from her life, but he was sure somewhere in his unbeating heart that it was like an amputation. She thought it was for her own good, at least, but it had to hurt like hell and made her lose something she needed. At least, he hoped that was how it had felt.

He had a feeling Buffy wasn't feeling much of anything lately. Even when her mates walked in on the pair of them sitting a little too close for comfort – it was completely innocuous and, by the way, initiated entirely by Buffy – she had barely reacted, despite the hell the Scoobies tried to raise.

Then there was the Niblet to be worried about. Normally, she blathered on about the most inconsequential of things, but she'd been quiet lately. Quiet like the grave. Big Sis was too lost in her own struggles to notice, though, and Spike was afraid to butt in. _Not afraid_, he corrected. _Rightfully wary_.

Dawn had let him do her nails before the funeral, though, so that was something.

Things had started to settle into a kind of routine. He'd arrive at sunset, usually with takeout. Buffy wouldn't ask how he paid for it, and she usually wouldn't thank him, but at least she would eat as long as he was around to make sure Dawn wouldn't take everything. They would eat in relative silence. Dawn would lie and say all of her homework was finished. Buffy would reprimand her for lying. Dawn would go up to her room and sulk, finish her homework, and then come down in time to watch some crappy TV movie.

Buffy usually tried to be energetic and do something her Mum would have done, like the dishes or some such. Of course, there wasn't usually much to do, seeing as she didn't seem to be eating much except the takeout he brought. She wouldn't let him help. The spark of fire left in her seemed to have been dedicated to that one task, and she put all of her fury into it.

Then she would collapse on the couch, exhausted just from being alive, and he would awkwardly sit by her, probably closer than well Buffy would have allowed and not as close as this barely-there Buffy might have been okay with. She didn't say anything about the un-inviting, or the kiss, or really anything at all except for an occasional comment about the implausibility of some martial arts move on the dumb-movie-of-the-night.

After a couple of hours, Dawn and Buffy would fall asleep, and Spike would leave.

If Spike would have had a soul, he probably would have felt awful about how good he felt about the situation. He wasn't happy about their misery, obviously – he'd give everything he owned (which, admittedly, wasn't much) to see the two Summers women happy again. But going there every day, feeling useful…it was almost like having a family again. He didn't dare compare the feeling with his human life, but it was almost like in the very early days with Dru and Angelus and Darla. Only with less gruesome violence and more mediocre Chinese food.

Speaking of violence, no word on patrolling from Buffy. He'd taken a few quick lookabouts on his way in and out of the Summers' residence, but he was in no mood to jeopardize his good nights by bringing up a full schedule. Despite the ever-looming Glory threat, Sunnydale seemed to be pretty tip-top at the mo', and there was no need to bother the barely-breathing Slayer with worries about a few wayward vamps sucking dry the citizens still dumb enough to venture around the graveyards at night.

Yeah, this new routine was a bit of all right.

He was in for quite a surprise one night, however, when he dropped by with arms full of things he could pronounce a hell of a lot better than the bloody Americans running the restaurant, only to find the Slayer looking almost…peppy.

"Well, somebody had her Wheaties this morning," he said, bemused. Buffy yanked the bulging bags from his arms and spun around, trotting rapidly to the kitchen and talking as she walked.

"We can have these tomorrow. I'm cooking."

"You're – what?"

Sure enough, some very….interesting aromas were meeting his enhanced vampire senses.

Not all of it smelled bad, though. He could pick out some kind of meat that seemed positively delicious. "Cooking," he repeated. "Why?"

Buffy busied herself with finding places for the various containers in the fridge. It wasn't hard to do – he was pretty sure she hadn't been grocery shopping since Joyce – well, in a couple of weeks. "Because I'm tired of just sitting around on my ass while Willow bakes cookies and Xander drives Dawn to school and you bring home takeout…"

That was sound logic, enough, at least by Slayer standards. But – had his ears deceived him? "What's that, love?" he asked, emboldened a little by Buffy's newfound perkiness. "What do I do, exactly?"

She looked at him blankly. "You bring back takeout. Thanks, by the way. I…don't think I said it before."

Spike was reasonably certain that she had just referred to Revello Drive as home – contextually, _his _home – and he was dying to push the issue except, well, already dead. He opened his mouth to ask a little more, but Buffy shoved some plates into his arms.

"Less talking, more setting," she instructed. "We're having everybody."

He glanced over the number, mentally assigning Scoobies to plates. The Watcher, the boy, Anya, Red, Tara, Dawn, Buffy…

"And one to grow on," he murmured, a little surprised in spite of himself. Unless he was mistaken, Spike himself had scored a table setting.

* * *

_This is it_.

Buffy had battled countless evils, sent her own boyfriend to Hell, and ended so many apocalypses that she'd lost count. She had even died and come back to life. She had fought _Cordelia Chase_ over the Homecoming Queen title.

None of that compared to the horror of trying to be a grown-up and host a (semi-)grown-up dinner party.

To start off with, she'd made the mistake of letting Dawn roast the potatoes, so they ended up burnt and over-seasoned. She couldn't remember where Mom had kept the good silverware, so Buffy had to piece together some mismatched forks and knives from the day-to-day drawer. Spike had insisted that he was not going to "sit through a whole bloody dinner with the Scoobies without the help of a little alcohol", and he came back with at least five different bottles, almost certainly illegally obtained.

And that was all before the rest of the gang even showed up.

"Xander! Anya!" she greeted enthusiastically after the first knock at the door. Buffy gave them her very best My-Life-Is-Together smile.

Anya returned it with a lightbulb smile of her own. Xander, instead, wrapped his arms around Buffy almost instinctively.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice a little rough with emotion. She snuggled into the warmth for a brief second before breaking away.

Nope, no emotions for her today. "Better," she said, mostly-honestly. "Really."

"Good!" Anya said immediately. "It must be hard, doing all the things that Joyce used to do. Humans really are amazingly resilient."

Unsure what to say to that, Buffy ushered the pair into the living room, but before she could call Dawn back in (or try to explain Spike's presence, which she was _so_ not ready to do, fyi), there was another knock at the door.

Once inside, Giles faced Spike wearily before turning to Buffy. "I don't suppose you have any scotch on hand?"

Before she could muster a reply (one that would sound suitably defensive of Spike _without_ in any way implying that in the rare moments that the haze of grief lifted he was the first thought to come to mind), Spike snorted. "Like I could stand being here lookin' at your mug without something to take the edge off. I've got you covered, Rupes."

Giles almost smiled.

Buffy was spared from witnessing any more of their weird almost-bonding by yet another knock. Willow's hug nearly knocked her over; Tara, meanwhile, just stood by with a comforting smile. "Uh, we brought c-cookies," she said, thrusting the plate forward.

"Thanks. I guess everyone's here now, so we can…" She gestured vaguely toward the dining room.

_Oh god, the dining room_. She was barely conscious of her body for a second, only experiencing the events of weeks before. And remembering, even at that moment, the Christmas before, where everyone had been so happy…

Tara touched her shoulder gently. At her questioning look, Buffy nodded. "I'm fine," she said softly.

A minute later, as she looked at everyone gathered around the dining room table, like a real family – she sort of was.

Of course, they weren't the most functional family. Willow tried to conjure up some barbecue sauce for the chicken (per Xander's request) – she succeeded in producing the sauce, but forgot to specify a container. Giles took to the scotch quickly, which seemed to make Xander a little uneasy. Anya, in a rare attack of understanding, decided to distract him by regaling them all with tales from her Demon Glory Days ™. After Buffy finally persuaded her to stop, Tara collapsed in a fit of hopeless giggles as Dawn created a new culinary delight involving the burnt potatoes, some peanut butter, and a few dill pickle spears. Spike made some rude comment to Giles, which resulted in the Watcher taking even more scotch and the vampire stomping out to the back porch for a smoke break.

Once the noise subsided a little bit, Buffy glanced around and cleared her throat a little bit. She felt the pressing need to say _something_, even if she wasn't sure exactly what until she opened her mouth. "I, uh…I just want to thank everyone for coming, tonight. And – and for everything, these past few days. Weeks. It's been…it's meant a lot to me what everyone has done."

The others smile encouragingly.

_Wait, they expect me to say more? That was all I had_.

Then she thought of something else to say, something she felt like she had needed to say for a while. She didn't consider herself a super-duper touchy-feely kind of girl, but that didn't mean she was totally emotionless. "I…I love all of you," she added. The words tasted a little funny, but in a good way. Like toothpaste.

Of course, her ex-enemy, current-friend, potential-smooching-buddy had chosen that exact moment to walk in, invading her field of vision. Nobody turned to look at Spike; he might as well have been invisible to everybody except Buffy.

He was all she could see.

Those dark eyebrows shot almost up to his hairline at her words. She could almost see the thought forming, and she began to cringe when he opened his mouth. Off her look, however, he closed it again, but it didn't really matter. She already knew what he was going to say, and she knew that while he would have played it off as joking, he would have meant it. (The amount of analysis she put into a single Spike-expression was beginning to be downright scary.)

She couldn't say that to him, couldn't grant him that crumb. But there was one thing she could say.

Keeping her eyes locked on his and ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, Buffy continued. "I care about all of you way, way more than I could try to say. You're my family."

He leaned a little further forward and tilted his head, as if to say, _even me?_

Buffy gave a quick nod, heart suddenly pounding. She berated herself for it, but her heart just took that as an invitation to throb even harder. She began to seriously worry about her other organs.

Spike smiled, slowly. The butterflies in her stomach seemed to turn into lava.

Not even a thousand hellgods could have wiped that smile off of her face.

* * *

Spike silently argued with himself for the rest of the night about whether or not he should offer to stay. By the time that only the Watcher and he were left, he had almost decided not to push his luck any further.

"Night, Giles," Buffy said suddenly. She embraced him, and Spike thanked whatever deity didn't hate him too much for the Watcher's slight intoxication. He barely spared Spike a second glance as he stepped outside the door.

Spike cleared his throat. "Well, I guess I'll be-"

"Drying," she interrupted, thrusting a towel into his hands. "We don't keep slacker-types around."

His eyebrow shot up of its own accord, trying to cover up the pleasure the Slayer's words gave him. "Going to be keepin' me, around, are we?" he said, in as a damn an even tone as he could.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Don't get any ideas." She began striding to the kitchen, moving in that way that he loved best, her hips all swivelly and fluid. Dawn smirked at his expression and pretended to gag.

_Oh, that's it, Bit_. His lips curled as he slung the hand towel over his shoulder and flashed her two fingers on his left hand – just as Big Sis turned around to catch him.

"What kind of dirty British thing are you showing to my sister?" she demanded, putting one hand on those _delightful_ hips. Spike felt his tongue flick along his teeth, a completely unconscious gesture, but he lengthened the motion for Buffy's benefit.

And, as he'd hoped, her heart sped up. _Well, well_. He was getting somewhere – even if that somewhere was dust on the Slayer's floor.

He expected her to say something cruel or to tell him to leave. Instead, she latched onto the neckline of his shirt and pulled him into the kitchen with her, eyes flaring all the while. Her heart sounded like a bleedin' hummingbird, to boot.

"Gonna punish me, Slayer?" he asked, suddenly feeling daring. After all, she was the one still holding on to his hot little body for dear life, wasn't she? 'Course, it was because she was brassed off, but that was practically a permanent state for Buffy.

For _normal _Buffy, he realized suddenly. _Real_ Buffy. Not this woman who'd been nine-tenths vegetable for a long minute. Yeah, she was glaring and fuming, but she looked _alive_.

And damn him, Spike wanted to grab hold of her and never let go.

Before his brain could send the message to the rest of his fool body that actually hugging the Slayer was bloody suicidal, one hand had made its way to her upper arm. Buffy looked at it, bemused and beautiful.

The air had changed, and he was breathing entirely too much of it for someone who didn't strictly need to. His chest was almost heaving, as if trying to make up for the last hundred or so years of only using his lungs for smoke breaks and witty threats. His head spun like he was starving, even though he distinctly remembered having fed a few hours before coming to the get-together.

Very, very slowly, Buffy let her own arm snake underneath his, until they were standing in a kind of half-embrace. He took an even deeper breath, savoring her scent. Her warmth. Almost unconsciously, he pulled her closer, wrapping both arms loosely around her waist. She leaned into the touch, against all his belief. He felt the Slayer take a long, ragged breath against his chest.

It took him a moment to realize she was crying. Curse words in a dozen languages, not all of them human, flew through his mind. _Bleedin' hell_, he finally settled on. _What does she expect from me?_ He'd comforted her before, that night he'd come to kill her, but not like this. Not with an armful of sobbing Slayer and the knowledge that the wrong she was crying over he could never right.

And he wasn't near ready to tell her he could identify.

Spike patted her back awkwardly, smoothing her hair with his free hand. He let his fingers get lost in the slight waves, wondering how quickly his own heart would be beating if it still could. He imagined it would have shattered his ribs by now.

After a minute, Buffy quieted and pulled away wordlessly, moving to the sink. He followed in equal silence.

She didn't look at him for more than a split second until after all the dishes were washed, dried, and put away. Figuring he was no longer needed, Spike began to head to the living room to grab his duster when he felt a hand catch his arm.

They looked at each other for a long moment. He was hardly close enough to lean in and kiss her, but it wouldn't have taken more than an instant. But Buffy was in charge of this little show, at least for now. He watched her face carefully.

Her expression softened as she looked at him. "Good night, William."

His given name. Well, what did you know? Spike could tell by the Slayer's expression that even she hadn't expected for _that_ to come out. He tried to conceal his shock, and only replied softly, "Good night, Buffy."

* * *

For the first time in a while, Buffy woke up with real feelings in the pit of her stomach, besides "check on Dawn", and "what if I never got up". It was strange, something beyond fear or apathy, but still generally sort of negative. After a minute of flipping through an imaginary emotional dictionary, she pinpointed the feeling as anxiety.

She was _nervous_. Nervous about…Spike. It was like her brain wouldn't stop replaying the night before. It was worse than when she'd kissed him, because this time she had a terrible sense that if she had kissed him she wouldn't have been able to tear herself away.

And that was _bad_ and _wrong_ and…some other adjectives that she would be able to think of if it wasn't morning and she wasn't still in bed, rubbing at her eyes and waiting for her alarm to go off in two minutes.

_Bad and wrong_, she repeated to herself, after the alarm went off and she set herself to making up the bed. _Wrong and bad and not okay_.

_Wrong and bad and not okay and icky – okay, not icky – but wrong, definitely wrong_, she continued, as she pulled cereal out of the cabinets. And by cereal, she meant one half-empty box of Cheerios. Not even Honey Nut. Just Cheerios.

Okay, so she'd add "go shopping" on her to-do list, somewhere between "panic over attraction to another dead guy" and "figure out how to foil plans of hellgod archnemesis".

It was gonna be a fun day.

"D'you think Spike'll come by tonight?" Dawn said, through a mouthful of Cheerios. She swallowed and grimaced. "By the way, I think those expired, like, last year."

"Sorry," Buffy said absently. "I think we might still have some Pop-Tarts…Why wouldn't he come by?"

Her sister shrugged, like it was no big deal. Which clearly, it was no big deal. It wasn't like she needed Spike. It wasn't even like she wanted to see Spike. He was just a short (not hulking, which wow, that was a nice change), bleached (which, okay, was weird but kind of suited him), _annoying_ vampire who just happened to have really good taste in Chinese food and was also mad wonderful at kissing.

Not that she was thinking about kissing him. At all.

"I mean, he probably figures you're feeling more you, right? You invited everyone over and everything."

"That's not…I didn't…he knows that…"

Dawn gulped down her orange juice. "I gotta go. Oh, and Buffy? Maybe when you go talk to Spike you should use actual sentences."

"I'm not going to go talk to Spike!"

An hour later, she found herself pausing in front of the door to his crypt. He was essentially a friend now, part of the gang in some weird way. Should she knock? Her usual strategy was just to bust down the door, but that seemed freakish and inappropriate when she'd been crying in his arms (_literally_) the night before. But knocking seemed so awkward and formal.

Not to mention, there was a chance he'd burn up in the sunlight trying to answer the door.

Buffy compromised by letting herself in quietly, shutting the door behind her. "Spike?" she said quietly.

Nothing. She was reminded way too much of the last time she came here to find him, and how things had ended that night. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to get out every last toe-tingling memory like it was toothpaste out of a tube.

Trying to find something to get her thoughts away from that particular subject, she wandered over to a coffin and picked up the black nail polish that was lying haphazardly there. Effortlessly, she lifted herself to sit atop the coffin and began to toy with the lid of the polish.

_He loves me, he loves me n- oh, this is stupid. Duh. He loves me. So not the issue here._ She absently unscrewed the top and began applying the polish to the pinky nail of her left hand. _Where is he, anyway? I guess he's sleeping. He sure sleeps a lot for a dead guy. _Holding her hand out, she inspected the results. _Hah. Maybe I should tease him about needing his beauty sleep_.

Suddenly, she remembered how he'd looked at her the night before. The angular curve of his cheekbones meeting his chin. Blue eyes burning brightly like the hottest part of a fire. Full lips slightly open, like she was so delicious he had to breathe her in with all of his senses.

She swallowed and began applying the nail polish more hurriedly.

"Buffy?"

_Oh sh-_ The brush slipped and she ended up painting a black line down her index finger. She wiped the polish against her jeans and closed the bottle, looking up to meet Spike's eyes.

Or that was the plan, anyway, until she realized that her eyes had been confronted with a very wet, towel-clad vampire. Spike's hair fell in loose curls over his forehead, which only seemed to bring out the bones of his face in even sharper contrast. His chest – which she absolutely _refused_ to purple-prose, even in her own mind – was completely bare, and only a kinda ratty towel hung low around his hips. He was barefoot.

And the room was suddenly airless.

He frowned at her in confusion. "What are you doing here? Give a bloke some warning. Almost walked up here completely starkers."

Once she deciphered the meaning behind the British-ness, that thought didn't exactly make her mind less jumbly. "I, uh…I was just here. To do the – the talky thing. About us. Wait. Not _us-us_, just – Dawn said you might think that you weren't needed or whatever now, and well, you still are. Maybe not needed, I mean, we're fine, but you know. Wanted. By her! And me, I guess. In a completely not…bad…way."

Spike squinted. "Seem a bit flustered, Summers," he commented, moving a little closer to her. "But I appreciate the thought, if I correctly dug it out of all the babble."

Buffy crossed her arms defensively. "Well, excuse me," she said, with a little less of an edge in her voice than she'd intended. "You'd be all flustery too, mister, if I was the one walking around mostly naked."

His adam's apple bobbed. "A valid point," he said, looking away. His voice had taken on that husky quality that she liked more than she wanted to. "I'll get my kit on, yeah? There's stuff in the fridge, while you wait. Unless you want to watch the show."

She gave him a dirty look. "I'll take a double pass. Trying to cut back on my blood-drinking."

"There's beer, too. And sodas, for the Bit. Think there's still chips and salsa left as well. Help yourself."

Well, Buffy wasn't one to look a gift salsa in the mouth, especially when she hadn't been grocery shopping in half of forever. She was sprawled in the not-too-uncomfy armchair, crunching away happily, when Spike returned. To her surprise, he wasn't wearing all black, but had instead chosen a tight-fitting red shirt to go with his customary black jeans.

Trying not to look too appreciative, she immediately began talking. "So how come you eat so much human food, anyway? I mean, I guess it's a matter of taste or whatever, but you don't really need it. I don't really have a full sample of vamps, really, but I know Angel almost never ate. Is it an age thing, maybe? Or are you just weird?"

For a second, she wondered if she'd left the fridge open, because a strong chill had settled over the room as she spoke. Spike was clenching his jaw a bit as he stalked to the fridge to retrieve a bottle of beer.

"So should I just start expecting to always be compared to bloody Angel?" He looked like just saying the name physically pained him. "Yeah, we're both undead. I learned to unlive with that fact. The similarities end there."

Buffy thought about pointing out their mutual penchant for dramatic coats and pretending to be badder than they were, but thought that might not go over well. "I'm just saying," she said rather sullenly. "No need to blow a gasket. Whatever that means. You know, that sounds kind of dirty, now that I think about it, so I'm gonna…not think about it."

Alas, but the joke failed to dent the legendary Vampire Hissy Fit. In fact, Spike's glare only intensified as he settled into the chair next to her. "You're just saying what? That I'll never be the magnificent, perfect Sir Broods-A-Lot? Yeah, I know. Think Dru hammered that into me hard enough, thanks."

"That's not what I -"

"I know I don't have a bloody soul, all right? I know I'll never be worth anything to you. I know that I'm still a monster in your eyes, and mine too, as a matter of fact. No need to start comparing me to Angel just to prove that point."

"Spike, you're being ridiculous."

"Am I? Because I don't see the Great Angel coming out of the woodwork to defend himself. In fact, I haven't seen him in quite some time, since long before Soldier Boy packed up and left." He fixed his murderous gaze to the wall somewhere above her head. "Did he even bloody call you when Joyce…?"

"He didn't call," Buffy said calmly, but before Spike could interject another tirade, she added, "He came to see me."

He blinked at her, looking shocked. "When?"

"The night of the funeral. You were…at home with Dawn, I think. I stayed at the grave past nightfall. I think, in a way, I knew he'd be there."

She hadn't told anyone about Angel's visit, not even Dawn or Giles. Honestly, she hadn't spent much time thinking about it after that night. It was like being with him was some little slice of perfection, but it was so removed from what she knew as reality that it seemed like someone else's life.

Spike set his jaw. "Did he – did you – "

She sighed. _And welcome to the _other_ reason I didn't tell anyone_. "Nothing really happened. We might have kissed once or twice, but if we did, it's none of your business," she said in a warning tone.

He seemed to deflate a little bit, looking nervously down at his hands instead of into her eyes. "Right. Sorry I asked."

_Should I_ – she wondered briefly, but some connection between her brain and her tongue momentarily shorted, and she just barreled on. "He, um, he did smell you on me. Which is way on the 'super' side of the freaky scale, in case you wanted to know."

He looked up at her, eyes suddenly lighter. "I'm surprised he didn't try to turn me into dust, then. I imagine he'd jump to the…worst conclusion."

Buffy sighed. "I told him the truth – or some of it. That you were on the side of the good guys now. That we weren't…together, or anything like that, but that you had been comforting me and helping out with Dawn."

Then, in the softest voice she thought she'd ever heard him use, Spike asked, "Did you tell him that I – that I love you?"

"He didn't ask," she replied smoothly, and now she was the one unable to meet his eyes. "But…he did ask if I was in love with you."

Spike didn't ask what she said, and she felt that he never would, so she continued, "I told him no…but I also told him not to be surprised if I changed my answer sometime." She finally looked back up at him.

"Possibly even soonish."


	5. Chapter 5

A Spark of Love

_Chapter Five_

* * *

"Soonish?" Spike repeated, heart suddenly swelling with a joy he never remembered feeling before. Funny how one not-really-a-word-at-all could set his bleedin' heart beating again.

If he didn't think the Slayer would kick his arse all over the town, he would have kissed her then and there. It was only a crumb, really, but he would beg all day at his mistress's table for one so delicious as that. She didn't even look as if she regretted saying it. Just maybe a little sheepish.

But damn if she didn't look pleased with herself.

"Buffy," he choked out, trying to express as much emotion as possible in those two paltry syllables. He felt like trying to say any more might bring tears forward. The Big Bad from years past would be laughing at him right now, but he was the one who'd had a taste of the Slayer (if not in the way he'd used to want), so who was the real winner here?

"Soonish," she said in sudden confirmation. "I'm not saying…commitment-time. Or anything time, really. But…I thought you should know."

"So why didn't the wanker come and stake me?" Spike wondered aloud. "Can't imagine he was pleased to hear…well, I know he's always been protective, even after he bloody dumped you, pet, and you'd be hard pressed to find a vamp he hates more than he hates me."

"You know what? I think I need to get back to Dawn. She'll be getting back from school any time now."

Buffy was fidgeting with her hands – nervous about the Bit, apparently. Seemed like she was hiding something from him, but he figured he'd let her get away with whatever it was, in light of what she'd said. "Right, of course," he said agreeably. "What with that nasty bitch of a hellgod after her. Haven't seen any more of her, have you?"

She shook her head, frowning slightly. "No, everything's been quiet. A little too much. I think I'll patrol tonight."

A smile spread over his face. Good to see his girl in action again. "Glad you're feeling up to it again, love."

He couldn't quite pick out the emotion in her eyes. Looked almost…playful. She shifted slightly as she said, "Well, I wouldn't mind a little backup. You know, just in case. You don't happen to know any muscle who wouldn't mind lending a hand?"

Oh.

She was _flirting_.

Well, if this kept up, his head wasn't going to fit through the door. He let his tongue flick over his teeth before he answered, "Think I might know a guy, yeah. Might want to watch out, though, a pretty girl like you would probably break his heart."

Buffy looked thoughtful. "Well, if he's as good a guy as you seem to think he is, I don't think it'll be a problem. Besides, he's tough, right? Should be able to take care of himself."

"Around you? Never," Spike breathed.

The air was getting warmer, and he was not-quite-unconsciously moving closer to her. She looked so delicious, all golden hair and parted lips. Better than any of his dreams of her. Nothing in the world could measure up to real Buffy, especially when she was sitting and breathing and laughing and _flirting_, beautiful like a less lethal ball of sunshine.

He was smiling like an idiot, but it was impossible to care when she was smiling right back.

"I should really –"

"Go, yeah," he finished for her, leaping up awkwardly. _Oh, balls_. He tried to cover up the gesture by leaning against the wall and lighting a smoke like that'd been his plan all along.

She shot him a funny look, but didn't comment.

"Er, see you tonight?" God, but he sounded like some 14-year-old loser. Not a hundred-plus…well, you stopped celebrating the birthdays after a while, yeah?

Buffy nodded, smiling a bit. It was a damn good thing he didn't need to breathe. "Yeah. See you then."

With a coy smile, she added, "I'll pick you up at eight."

He watched, a little thunderstruck, as she sashayed her sexy little way out into the sunlight. Be almost worth the whole burning-up-and-dying thing just to keep looking at that pretty picture a little longer, he thought wistfully.

Spike almost couldn't believe his luck. Sure, the Slayer'd been acting like she'd been thinking of him a bit more than usual, but he hadn't expected for her to show up at his bleedin' crypt, eyelashes all fluttery, and practically tell him she was halfway his. He closed his eyes, remembering her face when she'd said she might love him "sometime soonish".

Yeah, he could live with this. He nearly bounced over to the stereo – not that he'd ever admit to doing such a peppy cheerleader thing – and put on an old Ramones record, whistling and humming alternately. Pity it was sunlight. He wanted to kill something, but not in a good way. In a happy, glad-to-be-unliving today.

It was probably a little problematic that his first response to any major emotion was to go out and have a spot of violence, but that would be just another perk to being with the Slayer. She probably saw it the same way.

* * *

"Buffy, you okay?"

She looked up, startled. "Hm? Me? Yeah, why?"

_What amazing control of the English language_, her inner Giles Giles-ded. She bit her tongue in frustration and put on her ditsiest smile. She could just be tired, a-little-out-of-it Buffy. Definitely not dying-to-go-see-a-vampire Buffy, and especially not the Buffy dying to see a vampire so they could go kill stuff together.

Yeah, that was pretty much the perfect date. Not that it was going to be a date. Well, probably not, anyway. Maybe if he did that face and asked her if she wanted it to be again –

"-and you've checked the clock like ten times in the last minute. It's still 4:23," Willow finished dryly.

Buffy blinked, trying to dredge up the first part of Willow's sentence. She gave up – it was lost somewhere between hype for a fight and a detailed catalogue of Spike's facial expressions. "Sorry."

"It's fine, I just – I'm a little worried about you," the redhead said, dropping her voice as Anya went by. The shop was devoid of customers, but the ex-demon was still flitting about, dusting and rearranging. Giles was seated at the table, several large volumes in front of him. Privately, Buffy thought those would get a lot more out of the dusting than the already-clean merchandise.

"Don't worry," Buffy replied automatically, cringing a little at how super trite it sounded. "Be happy. Hah. No, I'm just out of it, I guess. Going to get back to patrolling tonight. I have to admit, I'm _so_ ready."

"Ready for what?" Anya interrupted, shifting the feather duster in her eagerness. Debris fluttered down from it; Willow sneezed and sent Anya a dirty look. "Have you found a new romantic and or sexual partner? I think that orgasms would do wonders for your stress levels."

Buffy flushed. "No, nothing like that," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Just…you know, being a Slayer, getting back to my…Slayery things."

Anya nodded understandingly. "Well, if you want me to set you up, just let me know. We have a lot of attractive young men here as customers, actually. I'm surprised Xander doesn't live in a constant state of jealousy."

Buffy was suddenly very grateful that said guy happened to be at work. The last thing she needed was Xander getting nosy about her possibly-existent love life. "Thanks, Anya, but I think I'm fine."

Giles had wandered over at some point during the conversation. "Patrolling will probably be beneficial, Buffy. I'm glad to hear you're returning to your, er, duties."

"Yeah, I can only imagine what the local demon level's gotten up to," she said cheerfully. "I'll probably be staying up all night."

"Well, yes, I'm sure that Sunnydale needs your help, but I was actually referring to your personal state." He cleaned his glasses absently. "Your…stress levels should certainly decrease, and it always does one good to get a bit of fresh air and feel useful."

Buffy nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely been feeling that unuseful vibe of the late." She tapped a finger on the counter, barely able to restrain her energy.

"I only worry about your, er…well, your safety," Giles continued. "I recognize that you're perfectly capable of slaying average vampires and demons, even in large numbers…when you're in peak form. But after recent events, and having been away for quite some time...perhaps you should have some backup."

"Already got it."

He paused, halfway through pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. "Who?"

As nonchalantly as she could, she said, "Spike."

She felt the heavy, fatherly sigh coming before it even emerged from his lips. Hoping to head him off at the pass, she raised her eyebrows. "I'm not about to endanger anybody who's running low on superpowers, not with Glory out there."

There. Airtight argument.

Giles still sighed. "That's very logical," he admitted grudgingly. "I simply find it difficult to believe that his recent fits of selflessness are genuine."

"Is it really selflessness if he's doing it because he…cares for me?" Buffy asked. Of course. She could tell Spike himself that she might be starting to love him, but she couldn't even get the word out when discussing his already-admitted feelings.

Willow snorted. "You mean, that he wants to get in your pants?"

"Willow – " Buffy tried.

She looked at her in disbelief. "Buffy, you can't be – he's for real?" she said, in a hushed whisper. "He really…?"

"He really," Buffy said dryly. "So don't worry, Giles. Spike isn't going to be nominated for sainthood or anything, but…he's done a lot of things he didn't need to. Especially after…Mom."

Buffy tried to borrow a version of Willow's Resolve Face to communicate her seriousness about this issue. She was surprised that she'd even gotten this far without making them suspect anything else was going on – or might be going on, sometime soonish – and she didn't really want them to keep up the Twenty Questions until she cracked. After a second of unprotested silence, Buffy changed the subject to Willow's classes and breathed a silent sigh of relief. Safe for now.

She knew eventually that things would burn up. Either she would realize this whole thing with Spike was utter insanity and she'd break his heart, or she would find herself completely fallen for him and have to tell the Scoobies somehow. But until then…

Until then, it was 4:31. Three hours, twenty-nine minutes to go.

Three hours, five minutes later, she was breaking down Spike's door a little early. So what, she was a little impatient. Mister Couldn't-Wait-Till-Saturday could hardly point his finger at her.

"Hey!" he protested as she switched the television off. "I was watching that!"

Buffy thought she could see a glimmer in his eyes even as he said it. It was all a show – he was itching for a fight as much as she was. _It's too bad we can't fight each other anymore_, she thought, a little wistfully. "Well, now you're about to be watching my fist if you don't follow me," she threatened, playing along. With a little thrill, she pinned him to the wall easily.

"You're early." He pouted a little, eyes gleaming.

"Remember when we first met and you said you'd kill me-"

"On Saturday, yeah, yeah. Got me there."

"I got you," she repeated with satisfaction.

The air changed. Suddenly, the pout looked a little less silly and a little more like something her lips needed to be on top of, as soon as Slayerly possible. His blue eyes were driving right into her, and his hands, hanging loose at his side, came up to tentatively touch her hips.

* * *

Spike wanted to taste her again, and she was looking at him in a way that suggested she wanted him, too. Possibly the best three words he'd ever had a chance to think. She wanted him. Her eyes were a little wild as they searched his, hands still holding him against the wall. She held him roughly, just the way he liked it.

Buffy began to lean in. Unnecessarily, he held his breath.

Halfway to him, she seemed to change her mind like she was coming out of a trance. "No," she said quietly, more to herself than to him.

_Damn_. "No?" he repeated, trying to make his voice silky like he knew she liked. He felt her heart speed up and tried to hide his smirk.

"No - not now," she clarified, extracting herself from his arms. "Now is for killing things."

_What a woman. _

"Now you're talking," he growled, feeling a feral smile take over his lips. "Planning to make all the rounds then?"

"Oh yeah. I was thinking the works – all the cemeteries, swing by UC Sunnydale, maybe even check around the morgues."

"You really know how to romance a bloke," he said seriously. She wrinkled her nose, but he caught the whisper of a smile on her lips before she turned around.

Striding out the door without a second glance, Buffy said, "If you fall behind, I'm not going to wait for you."

He scoffed. "Please, Slayer, you'll be eating my dust."

"As if!"

Honestly, though, neither of them could have lost the other if they tried. Their super speed was pretty well matched, so even though he scaled fences and she leaped onto roofs, he could always see her in the corner of his eye. A golden blur.

It was exhilarating, wind whipping his face and coat, rain shifting and loosening his hair until it fell in curls over his forehead. The air was harsh in his dead lungs, and as the downpour increased he became more conscious of the Slayer's presence, her laughter and comments guiding him. They stopped, now and again, to slay some wayward beastie, but for the most part they took the quiet corners of the night and made them wild.

The last slay of the night was a vampire, a fledge, from the looks of him. Poor blighter didn't know what hit him. Between Spike's punches and Buffy's kicks, a well-thrown stake here and a thrust there, he was dust on their fingertips as fast as lightning.

Lightning like flashed in the distance, he suddenly realized. The rain was becoming a storm.

Briefly, a part of him thought that was a fitting metaphor for his feelings for the Slayer. Started out torrential and rough, but easy, in a way. Natural, not frightening a bit. Then came the lightning and thunder, blinding him and deafening him to everything that wasn't her, wasn't her eyes and her mouth and the way she moved in for the kill and the way she moved in for a kiss and the way they danced together.

All of his thoughts fell away as she looked at him. _Cor, _her clothes clung to her lithe body like a second skin, and her eyes were dark and hungry. Unconsciously, he licked his lips, imagining the wild ride back to the crypt. Her eyes were still locked on his, and in the thrill of the bloodlust they were the same. A bloody dream she was, and the only thing that could make him take his eyes off of this sight was the notion of touching her.

She looked pained, suddenly. He frowned, as if to ask. Silently, her lips formed a word he half-anticipated before it was out. "Dawn."

The borrowed blood roared in his ears. Didn't ever want to tear himself away from her, but even in his haze, he knew the Slayer was right. "Dawn," he breathed.

Slowly, the hunger in her eyes began to fade, and she moved closer to him, hugging her arms to her body. She was cold, and he was about the least helpful one to be about to help. "We need to get back," Buffy said quietly. The rain continued to patter, but she could hardly get more soaked.

Spike brushed a sopping lock from her forehead. "Right."

Neither made a move to go.

Finally, she sighed and slipped her small hand into his. Hell of a sight for anyone who might be watching, he thought with some amusement. A legendary vampire Slayer and a vampire known for killing Slayer, holding hands out in the rain in some godforsaken cemetery on a Hellmouth. "Come on."

They walked in a comfortable silence, although he sensed she was nervous about the Niblet. "So, no sign of the big Hellbitch, yeah? Reckon no news is good news?" he asked.

Buffy shrugged. "At this point…I have no idea. I like villains I can figure out, you know? Predictable. All we really know about her is that she's a god, she wants the Key, and she's way stronger than I am. Not really comforting. Her M.O. seems to be to just disappear until the most inconvenient time possible, too."

"So we keep our guard up. She may be a god, or ex-god, or what have you, but she's human. In a manner of speaking. As human as you are, anyway, or as I am. Some part of her's got to have a weakness. All you have to do is find it and –" Spike snapped his fingers illustratively.

"And the job's a game," the Slayer finished, rolling those pretty little eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You make it sound so easy."

"Pet," he said seriously, stopping in front of her house. "You severely kicked the arse of the Master of Sunnydale when you were, what, seventeen?"

"Sixteen," she corrected quietly.

"Even better. You banished Angelus, another of the Aurelius line, to Hell in a handbasket. Don't remember much about that creepy Mayor bloke, but he was right old as well, and didn't you say something about him turning into a…"

"Giant snake, yeah."

"Not to mention Franken-what's-his-face, a renegade Slayer, and – several times – yours truly, well known for being the Slayer of Slayers."

"As well as for your delicate modesty," she commented, but he saw the smile in her eyes. "Yeah, okay. I have a pretty impressive resume, but nothing god-level. And I don't exactly have an army of high-schoolers on my side like I did when we fought the Mayor."

_An army of…_"But you do have a pair of witches, the Watcher, an ex-demon, the boy – who must have some kind of mojo to have survived this long around you lot – and, well me, of course," Spike added, grinning.

* * *

"Of course," Buffy repeated, thinking about it. It was weird to hear him say it like that, so second-nature. Like, where else would he be?

Like, why would he ever leave?

Her gaze seemed to be making him a little uncomfortable. He was almost – if she could believe it, and she almost wanted to take a picture just to prove to Dawn it had happened – _blushing_. It was…well, she couldn't lie, it was kind of cute.

"Why did you stop here?" she asked.

Spike, flustered, looked around. "Well, I – er, it's your house, innit, and I figured that you'd want to – go in, you were saying about Dawn and –"

"I meant here, near the front door. Dawn's asleep, I won't go in that way. Come on."

Hand reaching for his again, she tugged him over to the tree that stood by her window. Scaling it quickly, she tumbled onto the makeshift balcony effortlessly. He waited at the base, looking (despite his leather jacket and mussed platinum hair) like an awkward fifteen-year-old at the end of his first date.

"Come on!" she hissed again. His brow furrowed.

"You want me to…? Well, all right." Then, in as much time as it'd take her to blink, he climbed up to meet her.

The moonlight reflected off of his hair, bringing his features into even sharper contrast. His blue eyes bore into her with surprising intensity as he looked back at her. She wasn't sure how, but somehow Spike always surprised her. He seemed all of a sudden too close and much too far from her, and he had that vulnerable look on his face he sometimes got that always made her give a little more than she had expected to. The look that broke down her walls, brick by brick, until here they were standing on her balcony and she was 100% - well, maybe 97% - but there was that look and she was back up to 101% at least – ready to invite him into her bedroom.

Not for _that_, she reminded herself. No matter what her body screamed, she wasn't about to go that far. She had a bad habit of jumping in too quickly with guys, sometimes physically and sometimes emotionally, and she really didn't want this to go south immediately. The practical, Slayer-y part of her thought this especially, since his list of her fighters hadn't been all that impressive save for two. These two. If she lost him…all bets were off, and her money was already on Glory.

Was that a mixed metaphor? Whatever. She didn't gamble, except with people's lives.

Buffy cleared her throat. "Uh, you can – come in." She leaned over to push the window up, feeling strangely vulnerable herself. Metaphorical walls and literal walls were – kind of different.

He followed her through cautiously, almost losing his balance. Once inside, he laid his duster on the windowsill. Angel and Riley had always seemed too tall in her bedroom, like they were dwarfing the compact space. Spike, only a few inches taller than her, fit like he'd always been there.

It was like she'd let out a sigh she didn't know she needed to let go of. He was watching her carefully, in a way that reminded her of when they were both predators, hunting each other. He was checking her reactions, waiting to see what she would do.

She sat on her bed and looked at him for a second longer before she said, "This isn't about, well, you know, what you probably want it to be about. I'm not there. But…Dawn's in the next room and…I meant what I said, about family. It's a different kind of family, but…you still are."

Buffy suddenly wished she'd turned on the light so she could see his expression more clearly. _Not all of us have super vamp night vision, mister,_ she sassed silently. _Some of us have to make do with – well, okay, enhanced humany night vision. _

"Yeah?" he said, in what was probably supposed to sound encouraging. He actually just sounded a little scared, and she had to stifle a little laugh at that. William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, was afraid – not because she'd threatened to stake or burn him, but because she was inviting him into her life.

It was okay. She was a little scared, too. Buffy took a breath. "Do you, I mean, do you want to spend the night here?"

Spike looked shocked, and sat down next to her gingerly. "Well, I…" he began, after he seemed to regain control of his motor functions. "Yeah, that'd be great. I'll just go downstairs and –"

"No," she said, more strongly this time. "_Here_ here."

His brow furrowed again. "But you said –"

"Nothing – naked."

"Doesn't have to involve – " he started, in that low, seductive voice, and although she could tell he was half kidding, she cut him off with a quick "no".

"Just…staying. With me."

She watched his face carefully. Some part of her, despite knowing his dedication to her, felt sure he'd laugh. How pathetic was she? Buffy the Vampire Slayer, asking her ex-mortal enemy to make with the cuddles. If there was a Pathetic Hall of Fame, she was definitely in it.

"Sure," he said finally, looking surprised even as he spoke. "Yeah, I'll just – take my shoes off."

Hurriedly, he began to pull off his black boots. _Huh. No socks_. "I guess that's a benefit about the whole being-dead thing. No smelly feet," she observed, as she took her own shoes off and stripped away the socks. _Yechh_. She suddenly wished she could say the same.

"Turn around," Buffy instructed, pulling nightclothes out of a drawer. Spike obeyed, and she slipped the pajamas over her body as quickly as possible, not really trusting him not to peek. He was still kind of evil, after all.

"Okay, it's safe."

She started pulling the covers away, when a thought occurred to her. "How do you sleep in those tight pants?"

He looked embarrassed. "I don't."

"Boxers then?"

"In the nude." He didn't say it in that proud, trying-to-be-sexy-and-unfortunately-succeeding voice, but she still had a flash of images that made her turn red.

"Oh," she said, about an octave higher than her normal voice, and busied herself with the covers and pillows.

"Sorry," Spike mumbled. "Didn't mean to –"

"It's fine, just – bad thoughts."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed.

"No, not – _bad _bad. Good bad. Too-good, bad."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She looked at him. Layers peeled away, he didn't look like bad news. Just – a guy. A guy who was looking at her like she hadn't been looked at in a long time. "Just sleeping," she reminded him.

"Scout's honor."

They tucked into bed after Buffy closed the window. At first, she was on her back, but after a while she was achey and not sleepy at all. Spike felt a little tense beside her, too, so she knew he wasn't asleep. She rolled over in his direction and nuzzled her head a little at his shoulder, tiredness making her bolder. "But cuddling is okay," she murmured into the soft fabric of his shirt.

The vampire turned halfway to face her and draped an arm across her midsection. He was cool to the touch, but not unpleasantly so. Just a sort of nice relief through her clothing, she thought, and it was so achingly familiar that for a moment she pretended it was Angel. But when the moment passed, she discovered that she didn't really want it to be. Spike was looking at her through half-lidded eyes, a contented smile on his face. "Like this?"

She squirmed a little closer and sighed. "Yeah. Like this."

* * *

He could hold her forever like this. Hold her until they were both dust, him from the sunlight and her from the inevitable ravage of time. She was warm and alive, but more than that. She was _Buffy_, a woman with more walls and secrets and quirks than any he'd ever known, and to have been invited into her inner sanctum like this…

He respected her, always had. He wanted her, always had but didn't know it. He loved her, and he knew that with more assurance now than he ever had before. He was hers completely, and if he lost his life tomorrow because of it, so be it. He'd always been a fool for love, but this passion was completely indescribable.

She sighed again into his shoulder, her breathing becoming steadier and deeper as she relaxed. Spike hadn't done a thing to deserve this, and in fact he'd done quite a lot that should have prevented anything this good from happening to him, but it was happening and he wasn't about to complain. Who was he to deny the Slayer her comfort, especially if he happened to benefit?

Slowly, he let himself drift off to sleep, aware only of the woman who lay next to him. As her body rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep, his began to imitate, even though he didn't require the oxygen. The last thing he remembered before losing himself entirely to sleep was pressing a single kiss onto Buffy's forehead.

* * *

Buffy woke, feeling rested but devoid of some familiar comfort. She shifted closer to the remembered body, but found herself alone. She opened her eyes.

Had Spike really been there, or had it all been a dream? She stifled a yawn as she sat up. He'd probably left before dawn so he wouldn't burn up. _Smart, I guess, but a little disappointing_. She'd been looking forward to waking up next to him, although she could only really admit that to herself now, when she was alone. His duster was gone from the windowsill, but as she rose, she noticed that his boots were still propped in the corner.

Where would Spike go barefoot? She padded through the house, whispering his name (it wouldn't really be good if Dawn heard, after all), but he was nowhere to be found.

She sat down on the living room couch, forced to confront the truth. Spike was gone.


End file.
